Drawing the Line

For those who are following this “out loud” think through of the issue of baptism and the local church, Pilgrim raises a great point by asking, “Where do we draw the line?”  That is, what does it take for someone to join the membership of the local church.  Where we draw the line on this issue deeply effects how we relate to one another and to other churches.

There are, as I understand historical and biblical theology, two ways for someone to be excluded from local church membership.  One way is by immoral, sinful conduct from which someone is unrepentant.  Secondly, they may be disciplined for teaching doctrinal heresies.  I think that everyone is in agreement on these two standards.

So where would baptism go?  (There is overlap in each category, but an adulterer may be spot on theologically if you quizzed him and still be unrepentant!)  I would think that most would regulate an erroneous doctrine of baptism into the second category.  

Some forms of baptism are, as Brother Terry stated, heresy proper.  I would file any doctrine that teaches baptismal regeneration into that category.  Again, I believe that our Presbyterian friends would largely agree.  (I hope!)  However, Presbyterians do not teach that infant baptism is regenerative in nature, rather, it is an “open door” for covenant children to share in the promises of God. Just as circumcision did not guarantee salvation in the Old Testament, neither does infant baptism guarantee regeneration.  But it does allow the children of believers to move freely about the community and share in its basic benefits.  As a Credo-Baptist, I do not agree with that assessment.  I understand it; I like it; I just do not think that the Bible teaches it!

Now I am stuck with whether or not this is heresy proper.  Technically, I suppose any false teaching could be labeled “heresy”.  But I certainly would not draw lines of fellowship over some teaching on the millennium or end times.  (Unless they denied the second coming altogether!)  I do not believe that the Presbyterian view of baptism is heresy with a capital “H”.  However, I do believe that it is worse than a squabble over the rapture.

In the end, I believe that this issue fits better into the first category.  That is the category of unrepentant sin.  Can someone be inside the universal church and still be in unrepentant sin?  I believe so.  Paul writes, “Deliver such a one to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that his spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus” (1 Cor. 5:5).  In this case, the person in question was steeped in gross sexual immorality.  Yet Paul seems to believe that this discipline will not overthrow his salvation.  He believes that the man’s spirit will be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus.

Is an error on the doctrine of baptism as serious as being involved in sexual immorality?  I believe so, and I am cutting myself as well with that statement.  If I am wrong and my Presbyterian brothers are correct about baptism, I am sinning grievously against my son by refusing his baptism.  I cannot describe to you the anguish I would feel over this issue if I were wrong.  Would neglecting infant baptism change my son’s destiny in Christ Jesus?  No, not in itself.  But neither would adultery in itself necessarily end in divorce.  Adultery would hurt my wife and damage our marriage.  Much of the intimacy we now enjoy would be ruined.  It would bring sorrow upon sorrow.  My son’s status regarding election will never be changed, but I do him much grief by not having him baptized if my Presbyterian brothers and sisters are correct.

It cuts the other way if I am correct, and I am convinced that I am.  Infant baptism can indeed lead to a false sense of security in a parent and child regarding the child’s condition.  There are other issues, but I will not belabor them here.  That is not the point of my protest.

So where do we draw the line?  We do not have to draw the line.  It was drawn a few hundred years ago by men like Cranmer and Calvin and Luther.  (Why didn’t Luther and Calvin get together, anyway?)  It is drawn at the Word of God properly taught and the ordinances.  I know that Bethlehem Baptist cares for the paedo-baptist who wants to join the fellowship.  I do too.  But I have a larger responsibility to the local church as a whole, and to the church universal.  I have to hold to what I believe the Word of God teaches, no matter how sweet a brother or sister may be.  So, I protest.  It is as simple as this:  Dear brother or sister, if you wish to join this fellowship you must come by the means which Scripture has proscribed: an obedient believer’s baptism.  If you refuse, then the door is shut and we grieve.  If you are found blameless in every area save this, it still warrants the strictest censure and our earnest admonition.  God speed the day when we may all sit at the same table where this confession will once again be true:  One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism.  Amen.  

Anguish Over Infant Baptism

I truly wanted to write something today on the issue of allowing those who have only received baptism as an infant into the membership of a local Baptist church.  However, I find that the more that I grapple with this question, the more problematic it becomes.  This has tremendous repercussions on the local church, and I am certain that most pastors have not thought through this issue enough.

Let’s look at the big picture first.  Thomas Cranmer wrote this, “The visible Church of Christ is a congregation of faithful men in which the pure word of God is preached and the sacraments be duly administered.” (You can find that in the Forty-Two Articles of the church of England.)  I am convinced that if Credo-Baptists (those who believe only in believer’s baptism) will not allow the paedo-baptist into communion (one who has only been infant baptized) then we are, in effect, stating that paedo-baptist congregations are not true churches.  I do not see how we can avoid this implication if we use Cranmer’s (and John Calvin said something very similar in his institutes) definition of the local church.  If we toss Cranmer’s definition, then we are left with redefining what we mean by “local church.”

If we confess that some paedo-baptist congregations are indeed within the church universal, then how can we also disbar them from fellowship at the local level?  This is one of the troubling questions of our day.  It has absolutely preoccupied my mind since I heard of Bethlehem Baptist’s decision to allow paedo-baptists into communion.

On the larger level, this question strikes right at the heart of what it means to be a “church.”  Is a church made up of believer’s only?  If so, what will Bethlehem Baptist do with those paedo-baptists who insist on treating their unbelieving children as members of the church.  Indeed, they do not merely ‘treat’ them this way, they believe that they are members of the church.  In some cases, they refuse to evangelize their children because they are already united with Christ Jesus through the covenant of baptism.  This troubles me greatly.  I cannot accept this for even a moment.

Yet, I hesitate to say that Presbyterian churches are not true churches.  But the implication is there, and for me it is glaring.  If our church continues to practice a membership made up of only professing and then baptized believers, I feel that our church is implicating this very thing.  More troubling, I believe that they may be correct.

Is the Roman Catholic Church a true church?  No.  They teach a gospel that it incompatible with Scripture.  Are there believers inside the Roman Church?  Yes, undoubtedly there are regenerate people inside the Roman Church.  Yet, if a Roman Catholic comes to a Baptist church with a credible confession, fruits of the Holy Spirit, and rejects Roman doctrines, even to the point of rejecting baptismal regeneration, should we allow them into membership without baptizing them?  What if they believe that, while not regenerative, their baptism is valid because infant baptism is valid and they were baptized in the name of the Triune God?

If you do exclude them from membership, then you would probably do so based on the fact that you believe the Roman Catholic Church to be a false church.  But why do you believe it to be false?  Because the Word of God is incorrectly preached and the sacraments are not properly administered?  Or shall we simply change the definition of a true church as “Where the word of God is purely preached.”  This simply begs the question of, “Does the Word of God, rightly preached, teach infant baptism?”  If the answer is no, Rome is still disqualified, and so are the Presbyterians.  Baptists have always taught that the Bible nowhere teaches that infants may be baptized.  Further, we believe that it is extremely dangerous to do so.  

So what is a church?  If we use Cranmer’s definition, then I believe that paedo-baptist congregations are no churches at all.  They are groups of believers, perhaps, meeting together but defying the commandment and teaching of our Lord to be baptized in His name after they make the good confession.  They are being irresponsible with their children and giving themselves a false sense of ‘covenantal’ security. This is a hard saying, and who can stand it?  

Finally, we must ask ourselves if this is a hill to die on.  Is it worth the rift and division that such a stand will certainly cause?  Is this a position to die for?  This is not rhetorical flourish, nor is it the banter of a fighting fundamentalist.

  It was just such an issue for Balthasar Hubmaier.  On March 10, 1528 he was burned at the stake for his belief in Believer’s Baptism.  Three days later, his wife had a stone tied around her neck and was cast into Danube River to drown for the same belief.  Before he was martyred, Hubmaier had already suffered torture at the hands of the authorities of Zurich, under the consent of Ulrich Zwingli.  Frankly, it angers me to think that such men died over what we are now sweeping under the rug without even a peep.

If it is true that the practice of paedo-baptists is unbiblical, then I have no problem saying that they need to repent of this sin. If this makes them protest that such language is accusatory and implies that they are no true church, so be it. My conscience, as were the consciences of the Reformers before me, is bound to the Word of God. If I am in error, then I hope that I may find the humility to listen to correction.

Sermon Stealing?

Preaching is the most wonderful thing in the world.  I love to preach, and I love to listen to good preaching.  Occasionally, I even enjoy listening to myself preach.  I can’t tell if that’s conceited or not, but I can’t seem to find any preacher with whom I agree more often than myself.  That is, as long as I don’t go too far back into the archives.  In fact, I believe that one of the greatest signs that you may be called to preach is when you are dissatisfied with everyone else’s preaching.  When you find yourself being that critical, go and try it yourself.  Call me, and I’ll come listen and scowl through it so you’ll know what your old pastor felt like.

Alas, I digress.  The point of this short post is centered around sermon thievery.  I am adept at swiping sermons and quotes.  In defense of my plagiarism, I must admit that I do not always do it on purpose.  I read a lot.  I’m an admitted book-o-phile.  So sometimes a quote will come to me as I am preaching, and I’ll just let’er rip.

Most often though, my thievery is on purpose.  I spend all week studying a passage for preaching.  I even study the Greek.  I have the most wonderful, lazy Greek student program available in the modern world:  BibleWorks 6.0.  It was expensive, but worth every last penny.  It’s like having Daniel Wallace and Bruce Metzger and A.T. Robertson standing over my shoulder in the study going, “Ooo!  Did you notice that Aorist there?  Did you notice that participle?  Why do you think Paul wrote it like that?  Wow!!  What an interesting textual variant!  Do you think that’s original?”  In some ways, it is a good time to be a preacher.

Here is where the stealing comes in.  By the time Saturday rolls around, I begin to realize that I am not where I want to be with the passage.  I feel woefully inadequate.  So, I go to www.desiringgod.org and click on one of John Piper’s sermons.  Then, I break out my John MacArthur.  After that, I rummage through my commentaries for one last time.  I grab nuggets from all of these people for my sermons.  It’s a group effort.

I do not feel the least bit guilty about this.  First of all, I am not looking to be original.  I am looking to be informative, precise, and expositional.  Secondly, I would be extremely happy if someone stole one of my sermons, especially if they had studied all week and still liked what I said better than what they had come up with.  Finally, I am reminded of an anecdote that supposedly happened to Charles Spurgeon.  Apparently he had gone out of town on a trip, and he had stopped by the local church to attend services.  That morning, a young man preached one of Charles Spurgeon’s sermons.  He had ripped off the Prince of Preachers!  (He could have done worse!)  After the service, Charles Spurgeon supposedly went down to the front to meet the pastor.  The poor pastor was immediately dismayed and embarrassed because he knew what he’d done.  As he began to apologize, Spurgeon supposedly thanked the pastor very graciously and sincerely and said, “It was good of God to feed me with food I had prepared for others.”

I usually give credit where credit is due in my sermons, and I always do it when I’m writing.  (To my knowledge I have, anyway.)  But if I forget someone in a sermon, or if I don’t give credit to Augustine, Lewis, Piper, MacArthur, Pink, or the guy down the block, they’ll get credit in heaven.  

A Moment of Glory and Humiliation

Since I have already dedicated a good number of my life’s embarrassing moments here for the world to read, I thought I might as well share one more.  They seem to be entertaining, and maybe somebody somewhere can glean something of spiritual significance from the humilities my Savior allows me to go through.  This one has to do with pride.

When I was a high school student, I was always looking for legitimate ways to get out of class.  I joined the French Club, FFA, Fellowship of Christian Athletes, the Chess Club, and etc.  Another upshot of this is that my picture is in my Senior annual about twenty times.  I look like I have real school spirit.  Who would know that I was really a slacker in disguise?

One of the ingenious things that I did to avoid class was to join the track team.  (I also needed to do this to get in the FCA.)  Since I was too skinny for football, too short for basketball, and too clumsy for baseball, my only hope was track.  I was neither fast, nor could I jump far, nor could I throw a shot-put or discus.  My only hope was long distance running.  I cannot believe the lengths that I would go to in order to miss class.

So, I ran the 800 meter ‘dash’ and the mile and the mile relay.  It hurt.  Bad.  But I did it anyway.  I was mediocre at best.  I never placed in the top three in the history of my career.  Usually, I finished a respectable “middle of the pack.”  

The only time anyone even cared about track was at the County tournament.  At that meet, we would actually have people show up. Not a great crowd, but enough to notice that people were there.  This year, we had a slightly larger crowd than usual.  Our biggest rival, Boaz, had a guy on there team who was actually a machine.  He was inhuman, really.  Guess what his best event was?  The mile run.  This guy was going for the county record this year.  It had stood for approximately twenty years.  He had to run the mile in under 4 minutes and 15 seconds.  Folks, that is trucking.  This guy had run under that in practice, but never at an official meet.

My time for the mile run was around 5 minutes and forty five seconds, on average.  Once, I actually ran a 5 minute 15 second mile.  Not too shabby.  The problem with this time is that it left me in real danger of being lapped.  Lapped in a mile run!  That’s a humiliating thing to have to endure, especially if your humility comes at the hands of your biggest rival.

Another terrible thing about this guy was that he was cool.  He ran in Oakley’s, and he never lost.  I was a skinny, white-legged nerd.  He was a bronze, Oakley wearing champion. How I envied and despised him.

At the starting line, I was filled with dread.  Chiefly, I dreaded the intense pain that I was about to go through.  The horror of Algebra class helped to deaden this pain.  I would rather be beaten with a stick than go to Algebra.  Also, I was seriously afraid that Mr. Perfect was going to lap me in front of everyone.  I couldn’t let that happen.

At the sound of the gun, we all took off like a shot, especially Mr. Oakley.  You’d have to see the guy run to appreciate it.  He ran like a deer.  He was graceful, fluid, fast, and tireless.  He left us all in the dust.

For a while, I lost track of my rival.  I was concentrating on running and sucking wind.  The intense pain that running causes made me actually forget the guy altogether, that is until the last leg of the third lap.

I was used to be passed up.  I have already admitted that I am not much of an athlete.  So when I heard footsteps pounding behind me, I thought little of it.  I scooted over to let the guy pass.  I was competitive but courteous.  As he whizzed by me, I saw that it was Mr. Oakley.

I was shocked and dismayed.  The dude really was going to lap me…over my dead body!  I gritted my teeth and ran.  I ran so hard that I thought my lungs would explode.  I couldn’t hear, and I couldn’t see.  The only thing I was aware of was the pounding of Mr. Oakley’s feet to my right.  He was hurting, I could tell.  I could also tell that he was flagging and falling behind me.

On the back stretch of lap three, I toasted Mr. Oakley.  He was worn out and couldn’t keep up.  I felt elated as I crossed the finish line; he hadn’t lapped me.

That’s when I noticed the crowd.  The entire crowd was up on its feet cheering like mad.  My hometown’s section was in, what seemed to me, a frenzy.  It looked like that we had just scored a touchdown in football.  I was confused.  Then I realized what had happened.  They thought I had beaten him.

You see, many of the people who had come that day had come to see Mr. Oakley set the record.  But it’s hard to pay close attention to a long foot race; they are boring.  All they noticed was that when Superman came down the backstretch he had some competition, and they could further see that both guys were running to “win.”  They saw the Champ drop back and finish behind.  It was the upset of the century.

I was mortified.  The crowd would certainly learn the truth in a couple moments.  I thought, “I’ll pretend it’s a victory lap!  I’ll just wave to the people as I jog around my last lap.  That’ll fool them.”  But I couldn’t.  I was too tired and humiliated to lift my hands.  The cheers died.  They were replaced by confusion.  Then people started figuring out what had happened.  I went from nerd to hero and back to nerd again in about 45 seconds.

As I gasped across the finish line in the back of the pack, one last, horrible thought went through my oxygen deprived brain:  This is worse than doing Algebra.

There is one happy thing about this entire tale of my humiliation.  Mr. Perfect missed the county record by eight seconds.  Ha!

Baptism and Exclusion

I have a burning question running through my head and heart right now that is being stoked by the fires of this ‘baptism’ controversy.  It may not be controversial to you, but I believe that this issue is a big, big deal.  I believe that this issue forces us to examine what we mean by “church membership.”  I believe that this issue forces us to examine what we mean by “church.”  It also drives us to define what we believe about baptism, the Lord’s Supper, and church discipline.  It makes us examine what it means to be a pastor and teacher.  It defines how we understand a confessing church, and it compels us to deal with whether faith or baptism is the door to the church.  It causes us to examine how the faith of a believing parent affects the heart of an unregenerate child, or if infants of believing parents are to be treated as unregenerate at all!  There is much at stake in this issue.

As I mentioned in an earlier post the church over which John Piper serves as elder, Bethlehem Baptist Church, has voted to allow confessing believers to join the church membership even if they refuse New Testament baptism.  To be clear, they say that they will not allow someone to join if they have never been baptized at all, but this simply begs the question.  “What is baptism?”  If baptism is something done to professing believers only and by immersion, then nothing else qualifies as baptism at all.  If that premise stands, then Bethlehem Baptist has voted to allow non-baptized members to join the membership of the congregation.

I understand the impulse behind this move.  (Since I last posted, I have read over sections of the statement that Bethlehem Baptist has put out on this issue.)  If I am consistent in my position, I would have to withhold the Lord’s Supper from R.C. Sproul, Ligon Duncan, and if they were alive, Jonathan Edwards and George Whitfield and John Calvin and Martin Luther.  All of whom are tremendous heroes of mine.  All of whom I trust are safe and secure by grace alone to Christ alone forever.  I embrace them as brothers, and I love their work and exhortation dearly, and I am grateful to God for them.

But they are and were wrong about baptism.  It is not for infants.  Baptism does not replace circumcision.  Baptism cannot bring the faithless into the fold of the church.  Baptism does not regenerate the soul.  With all of the statements of this paragraph, I trust, the elders of Bethlehem Baptist would agree.  Yet, they have still decided to allow members into the church based on a profession of faith alone without submitting to the clear New Testament teaching of baptism.

Here is where I am really upset about this.  The Lord Jesus Christ left us with two ordinances.  Two.  That’s it.  Was the practice of baptism and the commandment of our Lord so unclear that we cannot even figure out how to practice the only ordinances He left us!  Can we not stand, without wavering, on the New Testament practice of believer’s baptism without capitulating to the tug of our heartstrings?  Yes, I love Sproul and Calvin and Edwards, but love requires me to say that they were wrong.  If I am in error on this, I would expect the same courtesy from them.  In point of fact, I spent a good portion of my day yesterday in dialogue with John Calvin via his Institutes on this very subject.  I listened intently.  I took notes.  And may I say that he had very harsh words for me.  He lumped me into a category with a man that was beheaded in his Geneva (Michael Servetus).  He railed against my position as ridiculous.  It was no minor matter to my dear friend Calvin.  I respect him for that.

I respect him for another error which I believe he avoided.  It is an error that is rampant in our society and our churches.  While he held to the priesthood of all believers, he never elevated the individual over the health of the church as a whole.  The church of God is more important than you and I.  I do not care if it hurts my brother’s feelings and breaks my heart, infant baptism is wrong.  I do not care how ancient the practice or how venerated its advocates, it is nowhere taught in the Sacred Scriptures and its practice cannot now be presumed as if we were at liberty to presume on God’s Word!  If it is taught there, then produce the evidence.  Believer’s Baptism is as clearly presented as the Trinity.

Here is what I explicitly and exclusively see in the New Testament:

1. Believer’s are baptized.  That’s all I ever see in the New Testament.  


2. They are baptized by immersion.

In future posts, if God permits, I am going to deal with a few subjects that relate directly to this subject:

1. Can we bar someone from communion and still believe that he is regenerate?


2. John Bunyan’s unsuccessful attempt to convince Baptists of this very position.


3. The nature of The Lord’s Supper in the Church.  (open vs. close vs. semi-close.)

4.  Anything else that may pop up due to interest.

Evolution!

Wow. It seems that I have jumped up the evolutionary chain to a Slithering Reptile. In case you do not know what that means yet, there is a ranking system in the blogworld that rates you based on the number of links you have and your average daily visits. It is ranked on an "evolutionary" scale. I just popped up to "Slithering Reptile" from "Crawly Amphibian." I think I'll go sun myself.

The Current Issue of Baptism

Arguing theology often feels like having to re-invent the wheel.  The reality of the matter is that no one out there is really coming up with “new theology.”  Most often, it is the simple rehashing of old heresies or the needed re-emphasis of neglected doctrine.  It is frustrating as a theologically minded pastor to see these things crop up again and again.  It’s like playing that game where the little weasels pop up and you smack them with the little mallet.

One thing that is popping up its ugly head in Baptist circles these days is the issue of baptism.  Of all the issues that could pop up in Baptist life, one would think that Baptists would know where they stand on this issue.  Apparently, we do not.

At Bethlehem Baptist Church, where John Piper is the pastor, they have decided to allow paedo-baptists (infant baptizers) into the local Church membership.  They cannot hold the office of elder, as I understand, nor can they occupy a teaching position.  However, they can become regular members of the Church on every other level.  While I sympathize with the spirit in which this is done, I am dismayed that it has come to pass.  I believe that Bethlehem Baptist is wrong about this.  I believe that it is a capitulation to the spirit of the age masked as charity towards fellow Christians.

Now, those are fighting words and I know it.  Let me make a few things clear from the outset:  First, I love John Piper.  I pre-ordered his newest book, and I have read through Let the Nations Be Glad and The Pleasures of God more than once.  Indeed, I have read almost everything the man has written.  Intellectually, I cannot loosen the man’s sandal strap.  As for zeal, he consistently shames me.  So I take the stand against him with great sadness in this issue.

Currently, I am struggling with where to begin in my refutation of this nasty thing that they are proposing to do.  I am further struggling with whether or not to post my thoughts here on this blog or on ThirstySoul.  I am leaning towards ThirstySoul because this website was not created to be a deep theological site.  Rather, I created it so that my fellow members at FBC Plaquemine could get to know their pastor better, and so that I might make new friends across the internet, and possibly share my devotion to Jesus Christ and His Excellency with those who are not Christians.  Finally, I hoped that it would be an encouragement to my brothers and sisters across this nation and others to hear my testimony, to read some of my thoughts on Scripture, and to get to know another brother in general.  It was not designed for “in house” debate.

For now, my thoughts one the matter will simply have to remain provocative and without much content.  However, it does do two things:  One, it lets you know that I am absolutely against what Bethlehem Baptist is doing.  Secondly, it will let me know what the level of interest is on this subject.  In the near future I pray God will bless me with the time and discipline to organize my objections and thoughts into a more clear refutation of what I see as folly for a well-respected and most beloved Church.

Do Not Lose Heart

I was reminded today of the simple truth of the gospel.  The good news about the love of God for me demonstrated in the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth is so rich and deep and wonderful that I need to hear it and think of it everyday.  It is as wonderful as falling in love again and again and again.  It consumes me.  At least it should.

As a pastor, it is easy for me to lose sight of the simplicity of it all, the beauty of it all.  I spend much of my time studying and reading in order to be prepared.  I worry about “Auburn Avenue” theology and Bethlehem Baptist’s admission of infant baptizers and Jehovah Witness theology and Mormons and Roman Catholics and on and on and on.  I am prepared for debates which I will likely never have.  I do not want to be caught flat footed.  Not for my sake, but for the sake of those I am charged to watch over.  I want to be ready; I want to be faithful.

In all of this study and preparation, it is easy to lose sight of the good news.  This causes despair and fatigue.  I lose sight of the gospel because the church members do not respond as I wish they would, or we do not see the conversions I’d like to see, or when my devotions dry up like a river bed.  This is a common experience for everyone I believe.  Here’s what your list of troubles may look like:  You worry for your lost son; you struggle in your marriage; you struggle with a lost parent; you struggle to pay the bills; you struggle with past sins that haunt your life, and etc.  

Paul, Peter, Timothy, Luke all felt this way at times.  They got discouraged.  They felt the bleakness of despair.  So how did they climb out of such a dark hole?  Look at this quote. Revel in it.  Wash in it.

“But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord.  Therefore, since we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we do not lose heart”  (2 Corinthians 3:18-4:1)

How did Paul not lose heart in the face of rejection by his countrymen, beatings, being stoned, being shipwrecked, being a prisoner, and ever losing his life?  He said he did not lose heart because he remembered the mercy of the cross.  Paul saw a crucified Messiah.  He knew that the Messiah groaned for him.  When people beat Paul and scorned him and mocked him and treated him cruelly, Paul needed something powerful to drive away despair.  His solution was to turn to the truths that he could not deny: the gospel of Jesus Christ had changed him, was changing him, and that Jesus Christ was crucified on behalf of Saul of Tarsus.  This was enough to keep him from losing heart.

So dear reader, when the cold shadow of despair steals over your soul, remember these words, “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?” (Romans 8:32).  The Father gave you His Son, the most valuable treasure in the Universe.  By comparison, the world and its fullness are nothing.  Sometimes, I must remember to put down my book and let go of my conflicting thoughts and think, “The Son of God bled for you, therefore you should not lose heart.”  I remember reading a book that admonished me to preach the gospel to myself every day.  I think that is very, very good advice, don’t you?

Pacifism and My Abducted Garbage Can

Oddly enough, I had already decided to write on this subject today when I noticed that the Pyromaniac had chosen this topic for the day.  While his post is more theologically reasoned and probably altogether better, mine is at least more practical, experiential, and much funnier.  Mine is a “rubber meets the road” post.  This really happened to me.

I spent most of yesterday in Baton Rouge visiting a friend who had to have a six by-pass surgery on his heart.  I didn’t even know that you could have six by-passes!  My wife and son went with me because this family is so close to our hearts.  We stayed and prayed and provided whatever measure of cheer and hope that we could, then we made the trek to our home.

Everything appeared to be normal when we returned to the house.  The doors were locked; no windows were broken, and the dog seemed happy.  Little did I suspect the scenario that was about to play out over the course of yesterday and this morning.

Yesterday was also the day before trash pick-up.  Since it is my duty as a man to see to it that the trash gets from the house to the road, my wife was naturally rounding up all the indoor trash and taking it out to the outdoor can.  After which she would return and smugly remind me that I had once again neglected my duty, and that the least I could do now was finish the job by dragging the trash to the road.  It did not go as she suspected.

I was sitting at the computer when she returned.  She had a shocked look on her face.  This was not the look that I had suspected because I had already figured out that she was rounding up the trash.  I had already assumed the humbled, sheepish look of a man who had once again neglected his duty.  As I blinked confusedly, she uttered this statement, “The neighbor has our garbage can.”

I continued to blink confusedly.  She explained again, “The neighbor has our garbage can.”  I said, “The neighbor has our garbage can?”  She said, “Yes, the neighbor has our garbage can.”  I said, “Why does the neighbor have our garbage can?”  She said, “I don’t know, but he has our garbage can.”  I said, “Oh.”

I got up from my seat and went over to peek out the blinds at the neighbor’s yard.  Sure enough, amongst the other five garbage cans this particular neighbor had sitting out by the road, there was a green one that looked suspiciously like mine.  To complicate matters, it was stuffed full of trash.  The neighbor’s trash, that is.  Not mine.  My trash was sitting on the carport where my wife left it.

Several possibilities ran through my head.  “Maybe he took it by mistake,” I thought.  But then I would think, “How can you take a garbage can by mistake?”  “Well, maybe the garbage men threw it into the wrong yard.”  I knew that this was no good because I had seen the can in my yard the day before.  “Maybe the wind blew it over there.”   The logical guy in me said, “Yeah, right.”  “Maybe they stole it out of my yard!” I deduced.  “Perhaps, but let’s not be hasty.”

I pondered what to do.  Should I just go over there and take it?  I mean, I still had the matching lid in my carport.  I could prove to the CSI people that it was my can if a question arose.  But then there was the problem of it being already full of trash.  That means it would do me no good unless I dumped the neighbor’s trash out.  That’s rather impolite, especially if it was an accident that my can wound up in his yard.

My wife was looking for me to do something.  After all, I am the man of the house.  I mean, if I let someone waltz over and take my garbage can in broad daylight without a word.  Next thing to go will be my lawnmower, then my weedeater, and eventually my wife will leave too.  Who wants to be married to a sissified man?  This garbage can thing was serious business.

What would John Wayne do?  What would Jesus do?  What would Gilligan do?  While I wanted to be manly like John Wayne and waltz over and fight my way to the garbage can, I knew that Jesus might not approve of this.  I honestly had no idea how Jesus would handle this.  Nobody ever took His garbage can.  To my horror, I realized that Gilligan would probably be looking through his blinds at the neighbor’s yard like a weenie, which is exactly what I was doing.  I am definitely more Gilliganish than John Wayne-ish.  My wife proved that she was the Skipper by verbally smacking me over the head with, “Well, what are you going to do?”  “Well,” I said, “I’m going to wait until after the trash pick up tomorrow and go and get my trash can.”  “Oh,” she said.  For the rest of the day I peeked out the blinds at my garbage can sitting there with another man’s trash in it.

This morning, I rose with a determined plan.  I would go and get the can. But how?  Should I knock on the door and talk to the neighbor?  Or should I just go covert?  What if the neighbor confronted me in the middle of the operation and it turned nasty? This was the real question that burned in my mind.

Let’s take the worst case scenario.  Let’s pretend that my neighbor is some sort of nefarious garbage can stealer, as evidenced by the multitude of mismatched garbage cans he has in his yard.  Let’s further speculate that he is a bruiser.  A real mean guy who twists off people’s arms and steals garbage cans for fun.  What would I do if he came out and confronted me?  Should I fight over a garbage can?  Certainly not!  No, I would fight over the principle of the thing.  That’s my garbage can people!  I have the lid and everything!

Then I thought, “Okay, let’s say he waltzes over and says, ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing, skinny preacher?!’”  I’ll say, “Getting back my garbage can sir.”  And he says, “Well, I'll just beat your brains out then!”  Then he proceeds to try, and I actually get lucky and knock him out flat in the road.  Then I think, “Would I get fired as a pastor if I punch out my neighbor over a garbage can?”  I knew I could keep my job if I simply got beat up over it.  The pity factor would help me keep my job if I got whipped, the problem with the job would be winning the fight. It's weird how we admire a guy getting beat up on principle, but we dislike someone winning on principle.

By the time I had thought through all of this is was nearing 9am.  The garbage man had come and gone, and I was late for work.  Through the blinds I could see my empty garbage can laying by the road.



Foolishly and without a plan, I walked across the street with my lid, stuck it on my garbage can, and walked back home with it.  I never did figure out whether or not I should resort to fisticuffs over a garbage can, but the Skipper is happy, and so is Gilligan.  I guess that makes a happy ending.

Bathroom Humor with Martin Luther

I have to confess something to you all, I was a bit nervous about posting the bathroom episode for the whole world to read, but I simply could not help myself.  Try as I might, I cannot help being the semi-doofus that I am.  I struggle with this aspect of my personality.  I am afraid that it makes me less Puritanish.

I do, however, have a scapegoat.  I blame everything on Martin Luther.  I think that he has rescued me from turning into a stiff shirt on more than one occasion.  John Calvin, theological genius that he was, is not known for his sense of humor.  At the risk of having rotten tomatoes thrown at me, I will also confess that I can only take him in doses.  Yes, I learn from him.  Yes, I admire him.  Yes, I wish I could grow a pointy beard like he had just once. I simply can’t read him all the time.  I start to wither.  I sometimes need a good laugh.


When I do start to grow old and dusty like a book page, before my time I might add, I turn to Martin Luther.  I pick one of his magnificent Three Treatises and I read it.  They are so not boring!  He is definitely my favorite old, dead Reformational writer hands down.  I highly, highly recommend you to read his Three Treatises.

However, and this is why I can blame my problems on Luther, do not pick up Luther’s Tabletalk if you are easily offended.  Also, I must warn you that Luther often talked about potty habits.  Having the juvenile, immature mind that I have, he cracks me up.

Check out that New Banner!

I am slowly, ever so slowly learning to do stuff to websites. However, I can take no real credit for the banner. Others who are much smarter than me did that. But they did show me how they did it, basically. And I am inspired to believe that I might be able to do some stuff...maybe...possibly.

I hope that after you realize that I'm a goofball that you'll still be able to take my posts seriously. Well, I hope that you'll be able to take the serious ones seriously. You get the point.

P.S. Voila! Michigan J. Frog doin' the Ragtime Gal, compliments of Google Images. Matt, your wish is my command.

A Mortifying Lesson in Humility

Let me do a disclaimer at the beginning of this post:  If you are easily offended by bathroom humor, please do not read this post.  Also, if your idea of pastors and their holiness is such that you have placed them in a non-human category, do not continue to read because you might get disillusioned.

Having said that, let me tell you how God is a creative genius when it comes to manufacturing ways to knock us off of our personally constructed pedestals.  Last Sunday, He kicked me off mine, and I believe it was hilarious.

I mentioned in an earlier post how I was having to deal with a stomach virus this weekend.  On Sunday morning I decided that I was well enough to go ahead and go to church and preach the services.  By the grace of God, I made it through…sort of.

We have breakfast here at Church every Sunday morning.  I showed up and ate some homemade biscuits covered in gravy, and I guess I had two cups of coffee.   I was feeling fine and ready to go upstairs to my study and pray during the Sunday School hour.  

Everything was going according to my typical routine until around fifteen minutes before Sunday School lets out and people begin filing into the sanctuary for services.  That’s when it hit me.  Yes, I had a stomach virus, but this was not the front end problem that struck me.  My stomach, or innards, made that bubbly groaning sound that most of you are familiar with.  It is the signal that means you have about twelve seconds to find a bathroom or you are going to be in serious trouble.

Fortunately for me, the bathroom is only six seconds from my office, two if you are at a dead sprint, which I was.  You see, it would take me two seconds to get there and at least five to get out of my suit to the point where there would be no damage.  That leaves only a few seconds to spare before certain doom.  I was hustling to the bathroom to say the least.

Here’s where it gets really good.  By the time I hit the bathroom and got prepared to do business, the Sunday School bell rang.  My church is small, and so there is only one men’s bathroom in the Sanctuary area.  The bathroom itself is rather small also.  One urinal and one throne potty, both crammed in about an eight square foot area.  I was sweating bullets for two reasons:  One is that I was having serious stomach and bowel issues; the other was that half the male population of our Church was about to walk through the door of that bathroom…to possibly die instantly.

I was mortified.  Here I was, the dignified pastor of the First Baptist Church, fogging up the bathroom with abandon.  I thought about picking up my feet so no one would recognize the shoes, but it was needless.  No one stayed in there long enough to notice my shoes.  This was not only humiliation, it was revenge.  Once upon a time I went into a bathroom at a conference, and low and behold the President of the Southern Baptist Convention was in there.  He said something like, “Ya’ll better clear out” and then he went to do his business.  He let’er rip.  I thought that this was the funniest thing ever.  I told everyone that I’d heard the SBC President fart.  It suddenly isn’t so funny anymore.

I have tried to help myself through this experience by consoling myself with the fact that Jesus went to the bathroom as well.  He was, after all, fully man.  I don’t think that he played “pull my finger” with the disciples, but surely after all that time together he must have cut one at least once.  He, after all, designed us to do that, right?

My point in all of this is that I’m not so great after all.  I am a normal member of the human race.  I believe that I can still maintain my dignity in business meetings after this episode, and it has helped myself (and others) not to take me too seriously.  Calvinistic type pastors have often been accused of being “wine and cheese” theologians, sometimes we are viewed as just plain snooty, and most of them would probably believe that this subject matter is beneath the man of God.  However, I believe that it is funny.  And whatever protest they may make, they fart also.  

More on the Sojourney

I named my blog "Sojourner" because that's what I feel like. The Bible tells us that Christians are aliens and strangers in this world. We are, like Abraham of old, strangers in a strange land. This is not our home.

I like the idea of being on a Sojourney, but I have missed something. I should say that I am missing something. I also realized that I named the blog Sojourner for the wrong reasons. It struck me today as I was looking at art for the website.

I spend a lot of time alone by necessity. I read. Reading is something that you mostly do alone. I write things as well. I write for the blog, the Church, and for myself, and for ThirstySoul. Another thing that I do is think. I turn ideas over and over and over in my head, examining ideas as if they are diamonds. I check every facet for clarity and purity and value. It consumes time, and I believe that it can breed loneliness and depression if one is not careful.

That is why I imagined myself as a nomad of sorts. I am a Thought-Wanderer, traveling down the worn paths of the thoughts of dead theologians and philosophers. I am tracking them to see where they were going and what they were doing, and how their thoughts brought about change...for good or for ill.

I sometimes follow too far. Not because I wind up in theological error. Not necessarily. I follow too far because I go alone. At least, that's how I thought you were supposed to do things. I go up to my office, chase down greater men's thoughts, and then I capture their thoughts in sermons. It's like Moses coming down from the mountain with a shining face. I meet with God through the study of the Bible and the contemplations of holy men, and then I bring those thoughts to the people.

But that's not the whole story. What struck me as I looked for pictures of "nomads" and "travelers" and "sojourners" is that they all looked so lonely. They were often overwhelmed by the landscape in which they walked. Small figures that dotted the scenery surrounding them, barely significant by comparison. The thoughts of the Bible and great men often engulf me like that, and I become a gnat in my own mind.

What I was missing were other people. I am not the only alien around, and I am finding that through conversation (scary word these days) with fellow brothers who are still living helps me not only understand more quickly, but it makes the scenery more pleasant.

Indeed, we are pilgrims and sojourners, but we were not made to walk alone. We need companionship. We desperately need one another. We need to laugh and hear others laugh. We need to hear other people's thoughts and dreams. We need to eat pizza and grill burgers and tell stories and watch games together. We are a community of pilgrims, and I believe that pastors rot on the vine because they forget this in their offices.

A Chance to Win a Bible and a Book

Here’s how this works: If you scroll to the bottom of this blog, you will see a banner that basically says, “Click here and you could win a Bible and a book!”. Go down there and click that banner. It’ll take you to Tim Challies website, who also happens to be one of the genius’ that I have linked to this blog. He won’t spam you or giveaway your email address. He just likes to give stuff away.

Since one of my ambitions in life is to get free books, go and enter and you will do me a favor. Every time someone enters who is referred from my website, I get another chance at winning. So go and enter already!

Internet Jargon and Etc.

I am supposed to be writing something of substance for our monthly newsletter, but I’m drawing a blank right now.  (I’m just getting over a stomach virus, so I think being here is an accomplishment.)  Instead of doing something more useful, I am scrolling through blogs, which leads me to this post.

I am fairly new to the internet/blogworld.  So, I am kind of behind on the learning curve.  This explains why my blog is so ugly and plain.  I pretend like it is because I am a Puritan at heart, and that I only want people to visit because of the substance of my posts, but I would really like it if I had the graphic genius of the <Pyromaniac.
Because I have been too proud to ask, I have had some difficulty understanding blog jargon.  I have no idea what an RSS feed is.  I have no idea what a “loop” is, and I am amazed that some people have the ability to put music on their blogs.  I don’t even know what html stands for.  I can’t even change my blog’s colors or post pictures without help.  It amazes me that I have visitors at all considering how ugly this place is.  But, I guess some of you actually like the posts!  I can’t imagine what would happen if I had programming capability…or whatever it takes to make the place look decent.

The post of this rambling post is that there is some jargon out there that you need to know about.  I have had to figure it out on my own, and I may be wrong on some of it, but here goes:

1. LOL= Laughing Out Loud  (People are LOL-ing all the time on the web.  It’s a fun place.)


2. ROFL= Rolling On the Floor Laughing (This is when something is really funny.  Not just chuckle funny.)


3. IMO= In My Opinion (This is used when giving one’s opinion.  Go figure.)


4. IMHO= In My Humble Opinion (This is used when giving one’s opinion in an arrogant way.  Go figure.)


5. FWIW= For What It’s Worth (It took me forever to figure this one out, FWIW.)


6. FYI= For Your Information (Okay, not net jargon, but somebody may NTK!  That’s Need To Know, and I made that up myself.)

There are some others, but I haven’t figured them out yet.  Maybe some of my more astute readers can let me in on the jargon.  

Why I am Happy in the Mystery of God

I remember lying awake as a child wondering how God could have no beginning or end. It boggled my mind. Everything in my known experience had a mother and father or had started from somewhere. But God went back forever. This truth blew me away. Now as an adult, I am still mystified that God goes back forever. This is only the beginning of the mysteries that amaze me about God.

Some things that the Bible teaches about God are hard to understand. In fact, the Bible says that we only know certain things “in part” (1 Corinthians 13:9). This is not to say that we are completely ignorant of God. Or that our current knowledge is somehow insufficient. We know enough, and what we know brings us joy inexpressible. I compare this incomplete knowledge to my knowledge of my personal computer. I know how to turn it on, get on the internet, use the word processor, and play with the photo shop. I know enough to be amazed at the technology. However, I have no real idea how it does the things that it does. How information goes through the processor and what a gigabyte is and how it is stored on a microchip is beyond me. I don’t even know if they still use microchips. My knowledge of my computer is incomplete, but I enjoy it all the same.

With God, I know enough to know that I must know more. I have no real desire to know more about my personal computer; I can use it as I need to for now. Knowing God is an imperative. I want to know more of Him. He is my source of joy and strength and encouragement and life and love and all. The more I learn, the more mysteries I run into that convince me that He is greater than all I have ever imagined or can imagine.

When the Bible declares that God is One Being and yet three persons, some people are ready to abandon the faith for something more manageable. It is perplexing as to how God the Holy Spirit is fully God, not part God, and yet He is not God the Father or God the Son. God the Father is also fully God, and yet He is neither the Son nor the Spirit. These three are One God, equal in essence but different in person. I am so happy that this is so. I can feel that refreshing, child-like wonder that I felt on the day that I learned that God had no beginning. It makes me wax poetic and ask, “Oh God, to what shall I compare Thee?” The reason I have no category for God’s Triune nature is because there is simply nothing like God nor can there be. God is completely unique. He is totally outside any other thing in my experience, and I see Him through a veil, hidden from complete seeing and knowing.

I think also of the mystery of the passion of Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, the God who is man, and conversely, the man who is God. What a staggering statement. Even now as I wish to convey to you the truth of it, I find myself stammering for words. (How aggravating it is to be struck dumb over things about which I should sing most clearly!) I think of Jesus, the Holy One, sweating drops of blood and crying out to be delivered from the cup of God’s wrath: the cup which He was destined to bear, the cup which He left heaven to partake of. Yet, I see Him flinch. Is it real fear that I find in Luke 22:41-44? Does Jesus tremble only in His humanity, or did God flinch that day? I cannot see past the mystery of that veil, and yet the more I dwell on it, the more I know that that place, that time, that moment is most holy. Battle was waged in that moment. A battle whose outcome would affect the earth, the angels, the galaxy and all of creation. In one trembling, sweat-soaked moment Jesus proved Himself Savior and King of the universe. One moment of many that Jesus had while on earth. He rose and set His face toward Calvary, choosing to endure that pain of death and the weight of sin over His temptation to ease.

These mysteries are real, and they are a gift. How sad it would be if Jesus were only a man like me, and how disappointing if God were such that I could completely know Him. In some ways, Jesus was indeed a man like me. But in others, Jesus was more a man than I will ever be. Our difference lies not in the fact that He wasn’t human, it lies in the fact that I am less human than He. My humanness is fallen; His was not. I am less than I ought to be, that is why I have never sweat drops of blood over sin.

In short, it does not upset me that I do not fully understand all of the things which God has revealed in His Word. There are many mysteries which I have not even mentioned here, and there are multitudes more that I have yet to discover. Far from upsetting me, I have come to cherish and to expect them. I meditate upon them with great pleasure.

As I meditate, I do not attempt merely to understand these mysteries for knowledge’s sake as I once did. I once sought answers to the questions because I wanted to make perfect sense of God. I thought that theology meant finding out all the answers, and if I could not answer something, then I had failed. This is not the case. I certainly do not have to know all of the answers, and I can say with great joy that I know that God is Trinity, but I do not understand fully how this can be. Instead, I now meditate on the Trinity with wonder, hoping that God will more fully draw me into this mystery of how great and magnificent and unique and astounding that He is. I want to see more that will cause me to marvel. Answers are not the only things that thrill me, I greatly enjoy the mysteries as well. Besides, I have found that answers to my questions are often doors to greater mysteries!

I have two hopes in writing this short article. One is that you may see how I love the Mystery of God. The second is so that you can know that mystery is good, and that it is not shameful not to fully understand. Seek God, and the answers will come. Seek Him in the Scriptures, for that is the only place that these mysteries are revealed.

Hurricane Rita and Electricity

If I go suddenly silent for a couple of days, it will be because Hurricane Rita has knocked out our power. We’re getting a good bit of rain and a good measure of wind as well. We’ve already lost power once. I wouldn’t be surprised if it went out again for a good while.

UPDATE:

We got our electricity back yesterday at noon. Hopefully, I will be able to post something of substance today.

Would You Look at This?

I just had to demonstrate how blessed that I am. That's my wife and my son. He learned to clap today. You'd think he had won a gold medal.

A Good Verse to Have Handy For Demon Discussion

I don't know if you have noticed, but Hollywood has given us a 'true story' about a demon possessed woman. I think that it is called, "The exorcism of Emily Rose". Naturally, people will watch this movie and wonder if people can get demon possessed, and if we can cast out demons and etc.

The first thing is for you not to freak out about all this. Yes, demons are very real. But, they are a side issue. Rest assured in this, simple gospel proclamation is sufficient to keep demons at bay. The gospel is able to drive out the wilest, cruelest demon. So just do what you have been doing and what the Apostles did: Preach the Gospel!

There is are a couple of verses that are good to know when such a discussion comes up, and I want to share it with you:

"And you He made alive, who were dead in trespasses and sins, in which you once walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience" (Ephesians 2:1-2, emphasis added).

There are some important things to notice here. One is that I use this verse to disarm non-chalant talk about the demonic. Paul states clearly that they are presently at work in people in this world. So don't treat the topic too lightly. Look carefully at what Paul teaches:

1. When you, yes you, were dead in trespasses and sins you followed the path of Satan himself. He is the "prince of the power of the air." He was at work in some way in your life. You at least followed his example, and perhaps came under his direct influence.

2. Satan is now at work in the "sons (and daughters) of disobedience." Those who will not submit to the Lordship of Jesus Christ are under demonic influence even now. Nothing short of God's regenerating power can change this.

So what do we do then? Do we break out the olive oil and start rebuking demons? I might if someone's head spun around, but that's not what freed me from demonic influence. What drove the demonic from my mind and heart? Gospel proclamation. How did you get free from the influence of the Prince of the Power of the air, if indeed you are free? Gospel proclamation.

So simply preach the gospel of the risen Lord. That's the short version of my advice.

My Love of Coffee

Okay, I like coffee.  A lot.  I like it black with just one spoonful of sugar.  As Mary Poppins sang, “Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, in the most delightful way!”  But that’s not the only way I like it.  I like it with those little creamers that are supposed to mimic Vanilla Cream and Amaretto and Irish Cream and whatever.  I like coffee.  I really do.

I liked the coffee in Brazil and I liked the coffee in Portugal.  I liked the little bitty coffee that they served in the shot-glass looking thing and called it cafezihno.  I thought that it was too tiny to be of any use, but when that concoction hit my lips…it was zihno, baby.  I felt like Popeye popping his first can of spinach.  I was ready dar luta com o diabo.  

Alas, I believe that I am now addicted.  Usually, I could go without coffee for extended periods with no physical symptoms.  It was as if I were impervious to its side effects.  But this weekend I went without coffee, and I got a headache.  A serious headache.  I never get headaches.  I took a Tylenol and got better, but down deep I knew what was wrong.  It was the call of coffee.  I had not had my fix of the sweet bitter black, and I was suffering for it.

Is it sin to be so horribly hooked on coffee?  Should I tear myself away from this love of the drink?  If I do, it shall certainly hurt both heart and head.

Blue Like Jazz Cont.: Be Wise in Relating and Communicating

I recently posted a semi-book review of Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz.  The book, and a few of the comments made me start thinking, and I thought that I might share some of my thoughts with you here.  After all, this is a blog.

The strength and the trouble with Blue Like Jazz, henceforth dubbed BLJ, lies in the area of relationship and behavior.  I will attempt to unpack what I mean by that in this post.  It is a perennial struggle for the Christian who wishes to share the greatness of Jesus Christ with others.

Relationship is essential if you want to have any sort of influence on anyone.  If you are a condescending jerk, no one is going to listen to you.  Or, if you yourself are so completely different from someone else, it is hard for them to understand where you are coming from.  You have to be able to relate on some level or real communication cannot take place.  We need to be able to relate and to communicate.  But, and here is the hard part, we have to do these things without compromising God’s standard of holiness.  We cannot take a pragmatic, the ends justify the means approach.

The Bible teaches us that relationship and communication are something that God sees as essential.  Think of the doctrine of the Trinity.  We have the One God eternally existing in Three Persons.  He is the model of community.  God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit have always been in community.  The Father loves the Son with an infinite love, and all that He has created, He has done to extol the virtues of His beloved.  The Holy Spirit loves the Son as well, and His mission on the Earth is to exalt Him and to teach us to love and praise Him.  

You may be thinking, “What in the world does this have to do with relating and communicating?”  I would submit to you that it has everything to do with relating and communicating.  How did the Father demonstrate His love for the world?  What did you learn in Vacation Bible School?  “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).  The Father gave us the Son, and He gave Him to us in the flesh.  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:1, 14).  God is communicating and relating to us through Jesus Christ.  That is why the doctrine of the Incarnation is so very, very important, glorious, and essential.  That is why the early Church fathers declared emphatically that Jesus is “God of God, light of light, true God of true God, begotten, not made, of one substance with the Father.”  You can find this in the Nicene Creed of 325 AD.  That is why Isaiah declared that we would call Him the “Immanuel”, which means “God with us.”  “In these last days (God) has spoken to us by His Son, whom He has appointed heir of all things, through whom also He made the worlds” (Hebrews. 1:2).

Jesus Christ was born of a virgin woman, laid in a feeding trough, suffered from cold and heat, pooped his diaper, nursed at the breast, scraped his knee, talked to girls, and probably even had zits.  Furthermore, He experienced rejection, love, betrayal, loneliness, fear, hunger, pain, and intense suffering.  He ate bread, He went to weddings, He sat around with the guys, He caught fish, and He told stories.  Such wonderful stories!  And He loved.  He loved so greatly that it broke His heart.  He wept.  He wept over Jerusalem and He wept over Lazarus.  He was a carpenter by trade.  He walked our walk that we might walk His.  “For we do not have a High Priest (that’s Jesus) who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15).

God speaks to us through Jesus.  God dwelt with us in Jesus.  Jesus related to us and communicated to us through stories, parables, and pain.  He related to us so that we might relate with Him.  It is a beautiful thing that God would condescend to speak to us and dwell with us and suffer for us and die for us and then bid us live for Him.

But notice the qualification.  The one great qualification of Hebrews 4:15: yet without sin.  Jesus related to us without sinning.  He called the sinner Zacchaeus to himself without sinning.  He loved the prostitute who wiped His feet without compromising His witness.  Jesus got His hands and feet dirty, but He kept His soul clean.

I find that in BLJ, Miller longs to relate to people.  But I find that he tries to relate, at times, at a level that compromises his integrity and holiness.  Swearing is not something that a Christian ought to do, ever.  We are told to put away “filthy language” and “coarse jesting” (Colossians 3:8, Ephesians 5:4).  Several times in BLJ such “trivial” sins are mentioned, and in my opinion, passed off as being harmless.  (Other examples are drunkenness, marijuana smoking, and etc.)  There is nothing funny or harmless about those things, and I do not think that the way to reach people involved in those things is to giggle and say, “Yeah, I have done that too, but I quit because Jesus is cool.”  Think about these words from the Apostle Paul, “But fornication and all uncleanness or covetousness, let it not even be named among you, as is fitting for saints; neither filthiness, nor foolish talking, nor coarse jesting, which are not fitting, but rather giving of thanks.  For they you know, that no fornicator, unclean person, nor covetous man, who is an idolater, has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God.  Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of these things the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience.  Therefore do not be partakers with them” (Ephesians 5:3-6, emphasis mine).

We are certainly to love people with compassion, kindness, and with patience.  We ought to make every single person feel special because they are special.  They are made in the Imago-Dei, the image of God.  That’s what makes them special.  Paul does not say, “Don’t love them” or “Don’t treat them with extraordinary kindness” but rather “Love them as people, but do not do what they do.”  Love does not give us warrant to live sloppy, unholy lives.  Love “rejoices in truth” (1 Corinthians 13:6).  It does not give us leave to curse and swear and smoke and get drunk so that the world will think that we are cool.  That is, quite simply, not the legacy that Jesus, Paul, nor any Apostle has left us.

My point in writing this is to say that I believe there are places in BLJ where Donald Miller demonstrates brilliant, Christ-like love.  (I liked the booth at Reed as well.)  But there are other elements of the book that I found distasteful and unwise.  I felt that he pushed the envelope and flaunted his freedom in Christ.  Paul teaches, “For you were called to freedom, brothers.  Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh.” (Galatians 5:13).  We have to be careful and wise.  Carelessness in words and refusing to take sin seriously can lead others down dark, dangerous paths.

So, that is the long version of the good and the bad of what I have been thinking.  Be relational like Jesus.  Communicate to others the greatness and wonder of God as Jesus did.  But do not participate in sin in the process.  Stoop to be humble.  Stoop to be gracious.  But do not lower the standard of holiness and thus shame your Master.

John Piper Has A New Book!

Okay, I confess, I love reading John Piper's books. He is, without doubt, my favorite contemporary theologian. He has a new book out, and I am extremely excited about it. The title of it is "God is the Gospel". You should go to Desiring God right now and order yourself a copy.

I would be gushing a lot more about this, but I think that theologians aren't supposed to be so happy about other people's works. I can't help myself though. I get pumped over good Christian theology books.

I'm a Crawly Amphibian Again!

Hey, it looks like I've evolved in the BlogWorld again! I am no longer a Flippery Fish; I am a Crawly Amphibian. Since one of my ambitions in life is to get enough folks to read my blog so that I get free books, upward evolving is a very positive thing. Also, being a Crawly Amphibian matches my cool frog picture. If I make it to the Reptile Category, I dread having to catch a snake.

A Review of "Blue Like Jazz"

This is a very ‘non-technical’ book review of the book by Donald Miller entitled Blue Like Jazz.
If you are looking for a review that will parse Miller’s theology, this is not the review for you  While I will deal with some of that in a general way, that is not the point of his book, nor is it the point of my review here.  Since this is my first book review anyway, (my Harry Potter approval excepted) this will be unpolished, non-scholarly, and therefore, perhaps, it may be actually useful to you.

Let me first tell you my motivation for reading this book.  I read this book because a good many other people are reading this book.  I like to be “in the know” on such things.  I want to read what other Christians, and especially my church members, are reading so that we can talk about the good and the bad.  There is my motivation.  I have no agenda with Donald Miller.  I had not even heard of him before I read this book.

Blue Like Jazz is basically a book about Miller’s life and how it has been shaped by his Christian experience.  It is written like a conversation.  Almost as if you were sitting with Miller, and I want to call him Don because I know so much about him now, and having coffee and he was telling you about himself.  If this helps, I would personally be alright with that conversation.  

The thing that I admire about Miller is that he tries very hard not to be ‘judgmental’ of people.  He enjoys hanging out with ‘fruit nut’ types.  (His words, not mine.)  He likes artists, weirdoes, and hippy types, and he seeks to cultivate genuine relationships with them.  He even spent time at Reed, which is like the revolutionist, hippy, ‘fruit nut’ Mecca.  His stories are hilarious, and often touching.  I could relate to much of what he said.  

In his relationships, Miller seeks to ‘share Christ’ by sharing himself.  (My words, not his.)  He cannot stand ‘selling Jesus’ as one would sell something on an infomercial.  He wants to be authentic, understanding, compassionate, and he wants to be himself.  In his writing, he is extremely self-depreciating in a very likable way.  It’s hard not to like the guy.

Here is the issue with Jazz that I think is worth talking about.  Miller want to reach the ‘fruit nuts’ of the world by loving them.  I think that he is right about that.  If his book is accurate, he seems to have seen some success in that area.  (He is a member of the Imago-Dei Church, about which I know nothing other than was Miller wrote about in his book.  Perhaps an enlightened reader can help me here.)  But here is the catch for me personally, and here is the area with which I struggle:  How long can we be engaged with ‘fruit nuts’ before we have to talk about sin?  It’s easy to be friends with people as long as you do not assert truth with a capital “T”.  

I think that Miller feels the same tension.  This is evident in the fact that the people who he likes the least are Fundamentalists.  (Though I think he would like me.  I am pretty charming, once you get to know me.)  He doesn’t like Fundies because of the rules.  He has a pretty big disdain for rules.  He equates fundamentalists with rules and legalism, not doctrine and love for God.  He views fundamentalists as a people who offer only a conditional love.  That is, they love you only as long as you toe the party line by keeping the rules, once you break those rules the love is withdrawn: the rules such as smoking, drinking beer, dancing (in some circles), watching rated-R movies, and cussing.  You can’t win the fruit nuts if you aren’t willing to put up with a little cussing and beer drinking and pipe smoking.  You even have to be patient with fornicators.  

Admittedly, the man has a point (not so much about having to put up with sin, but that we have to pointedly and tangibly love those who are not Christians).  I know that my fundamentalist friends just passed out, but that’s okay.  When you wake up and read the rest you’ll feel better.  We have to love the ‘fruit nuts’, and we must treat people outside the church with redeeming grace. They just can not stay fruit nuts.  (Being non-fruit nut does not mean becoming a voting Republican.)  They have to become people in pursuit of God, through Jesus Christ, and they have to have a zealous pursuit of godliness.  This is something that only the Holy Spirit can bring about.  Rules just won’t cut it.

Miller’s book made me think, laugh, and sometimes he seriously irked me.  In the end, I will say that if you want to, you should read the book.  It is no theological masterpiece, but I think that it will give you a feel for the mindset of the “emerging church” types.  

My Irrational Fear

I have an irrational fear, but you will not catch me showcasing it on Jerry Springer or Oprah or Dr. Philgood.  I can promise you that.  But I do sympathize with these people.  Irrational fears are horrible, horrible things.  They are, well, irrational.

When I see/hear my irrational fear, it is like the feeling of sheer panic.  That’s because it is sheer panic. You want to run, but you can’t.  Your heart accelerates to about four hundred beats per second, you start shaking all over, a wave of nausea sweeps over you, and sweat pours out of every pore in your body.  Meanwhile, everyone else is looking at you like you are nuts, and you are fairly confident that they are correct.  Actually, I have had people laugh at me while paralyzed with this irrational fear.

So here, I confess to you my fear:  I have an insane, irrational fear of small children choking.  I also have a nine month old son who puts every thing he finds into his mouth.  It is like God testing me hundreds of times a day.

What sets off this fear is children coughing.  The sound of a small child coughing sends me into immediate fight or flight mode.  Not given to flight, I tend to want to fight.  So basically, if your child starts coughing around me because he jammed his finger too far down his throat (WHY DO THEY DO THAT??!!) you may find me dangling him upside down by the leg whacking him on the back.  Not too hard.  Just firmly and with determination.  Or, I may just stand there nearly catatonic.  I can never tell which will happen.

Let me tell you the true story of how this awful nightmare began.  I was around twelve years old and was visiting with my grandparents for the day.  My brother was there, and at the time he was around nine.  My first cousin was also there.  He was about three years old on this day of infamy where his utter disobedience and sheer stupidity would scar me for life.  I am being particularly harsh because he not only scarred me for life that day, but even though I literally saved his life he does not even have the courtesy to read my blog.

My grandparents had gone outside to pick some tomatoes out of their small garden in the backyard.  I, even at this tender age, was reading a novel.  I have been a nerd since day one.  I vividly remember laying across the bed, minding my own business, and being engrossed in my novel.  (It was a book by Terry Brooks, who wished desperately that he was J.R.R. Tolkien.)  As I was reading, I became aware of another person in the room.  They had entered silently.  I would soon find out why.

My goofball cousin, the little three year old, was the one who had entered.  His face was as red as a beet and his hands where clutching his throat.  I believe that his eyeballs were also bulging out.  He was not coughing; he was not gasping for breath.  The boy was dying right before my eyes.  

I freaked out.  I mean I mad freaked.  I started screaming like a banshee and running about like a total fool.  My brother, who had been doing who knows what who knows where, came running into the room as fast as he could.  We he saw my cousin, he dead stopped and stared.  His mouth gaped open in shock.  He stood staring, I was running around screaming like a madman.  My cousin was standing between us, silently strangling to death.

It is in moments like these that we are defined as people, I think.  Providentially, just a couple of days before, I had seen Batman demonstrate the Heimlich maneuver on Robin while watching Superfriends.  I am not kidding.  (This is why Batman is the greatest hero in history.  At least for my cousin.)

So, I grabbed him up from behind, and started yanking his guts out.  My little brother, who had recovered from his torpor, began to yell and holler and run around like a maniac.  It was utter chaos.

On about the fifth yank, a projectile fired from the mouth of my cousin and bounced across the carpet.  I’d say it went about three feet.  It popped out like the cork from a champagne bottle.  My brother stopped screaming and stooped down to look at this little curiosity like it was some sort of odd insect.  He said with wonder, “It’s butterscotch.”  My cousin, the little miscreant, had gotten into the butterscotch when he had been told not to, thereby almost killing himself and scarring me for life.

Now, while my brother was surreally gazing at the piece of butterscotch, I had hit panic mode again.  My cousin had passed out.  He went as limp as a dishrag.  When I sat him down, he just flopped down on the floor.  I thought he was dead.  So I did the only thing a sensible twelve year old would do.  I screamed in his ear for him not to be dead, and then I pried open his eyelid to check his eyes.  Sure enough, they were rolled up in his head.  This confirmed my suspicions.  He had died.

At about the same time, my brother and I realized that there were some adults just outside in the garden.  Adults could fix anything.  And these adults were special, they were grandparents.  We both bolted out of the house and down to the garden as fast as we could run, screaming and hollering like idiots the entire way, “Chris is dead!  Chris is dead!  WWWAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

Needless to say they freaked out too.  But they did so on a more adult level.  My grandfather and grandmother charged the 100 feet up to the house like Teddy Roosevelt’s Roughriders at San Juan Hill.  We all piled in the door at the same time, and we all stopped dead in our tracks the moment we got through the door.

There was my idiot cousin, smiling, laughing even, standing in the middle of the living room and sucking on his finger.  I looked at my brother in bewilderment.  My grandparents looked at us in anger.  They thought we were lying.  We pled with them that we were not kidding, all the while my cousin kept trying to dig his fat little hand back into the butterscotch jar.  

Ever since that day, I lose it when a child coughs.  It is completely irrational, I know.  I further know that if they are coughing, then they can still breathe.  This head knowledge does not help me with my panic.

Now I have a son who sticks every conceivable object into his mouth that he can fit into his hand.  Today he strangled on a leaf.  It made him vomit.  It made me faint…almost.  I hope that God cures me of this ridiculous phobia soon.  I am turning into a paranoid nut.  I already chop the boy’s food into microscopic sizes before feeding him.  He has six teeth, and he hasn’t gotten to use them yet.

And Chris, if you are reading this, you still owe me big time.

Why I am Telling My Story

Today I am continuing with the story of my Christian walk.  I want to make a disclaimer again at this point.  I am not holding up my experience as the “norm.”  As I read the Scripture and see how God deals with His children, I find that every single person is unique.  God enjoys variety.  The creation teaches us so.  God also wants you to feel special.  He wants you to feel special because you are special.  He has never given anyone else the adventure that you live.  Your sojourn, your life, your story is unique.  God does not make cookie cutter children.  The body of Christ is wonderfully and marvelously diverse.  I very much look forward to getting to know each and every member in the near future.

Having said that, let me hasten to add that the criteria by which we gauge all of our experiences in this life is that which is established in Scripture.  Our hearts are tricky, deceptive things.  They are not to be trusted.  That’s why we need Scripture to guide us in our sojourn on this earth.  

We also need something else to guide us.  (I know, I know, I saw some of your hands fly to your sword-hilts, but hang on a minute.  I believe whole-heartedly in Sola Scriptura.)  We need teachers to keep us from twisting the Scriptures to please ourselves.  And we need the fellowship of the Church community to keep us from going mad with loneliness and goofy theology.  The Church is more than just a collection of disjointed individuals.  It is a living thing of which we are a part, and it is holy and good.

I am sharing my walk with you because I want you to be encouraged by what you read.  If I am nothing else, I am an example of, not what God can do, but of what God does do in the lives of normal people.  I also happen to believe that it is a good story.  I mean no boast by this.  It is hard to write statements to demean yourself without it sounding weird, so I won’t.  It will suffice to say here that I am altogether unworthy of the affection and position that it has pleased the Lord to bestow upon me.  I am a charity of grace.  And like a beggar, I have greedily extended my hand to receive all that it pleases Him to give.  If He can do these things for me, then He will certainly do them for you.

God Walking With Me

I have often talked with people about how to find “God’s plan for their lives.”  So I thought that it might be beneficial to tell you how I came to be what I am:  a pastor and teacher.  Hopefully, my story will at least demonstrate that living the Christian life is far better lived in wisdom and patience than burning bushes and signs from heaven.

I guess I should begin with a short version of how I came to feel “called” to the ministry in the first place.  I became a believer in Jesus Christ my second sophomore year of college.  (It took me five years to get out, okay?)  I was twenty years old.  I had no idea what I wanted to major in, much less what I wanted to do in life.  But after I knew that Jesus Christ was truly the Son of God and Savior of the World, I knew that I wanted to serve Him.

So being the new Christian that I was, I prayed.  I prayed that God would show me what I was supposed to do with my life and how He wanted me to serve.  God answered my prayers, in part, about six months after He saved me.  (Yes, I know that He really saved me a long time ago on the cross, but as someone once said, I only found out about it recently.)  It would be more than a few years before I would even begin to understand what this answer meant.

I remember it vividly.  I had just written a letter to a friend of mine who was serving as a missionary overseas.  After I sealed the envelope, I prayed for my friend.  During this prayer, I suddenly knew that I was a teacher.  I just knew it like I knew that Jesus rose from the dead.  It was an epiphany from God.

I know that people say that God talks to them all the time and that He tells them to do things.  That sort of talk makes me extremely nervous.  It can happen, I’m sure.  It has happened to me twice, but it wasn’t really God “speaking” to me.  The first time it happened is when He crushed me with the knowledge that He is God, I am a doomed sinner, but that the death of Christ Jesus avails to me.  That was the night I got saved.  This revelation did not have me running around the room and shouting.  I shook with fear and broke into a cold sweat.  It was a terrifying experience at first.  But after I realized that Christ could and would save me, I felt joy and peace.  It was a peace like falling in love.

The second time it was the opposite.  When I knew that I was a teacher, I felt peace.  It was as if a great burden had been lifted.  It gave me direction for life.  That moment has dictated every step I have made from that day to this one.  However, the peace did not last long.  It was soon followed by fear.

After I finished praying, I settled down to continue a Bible study that I had been doing on my own.  My Bible study consisted of reading the Bible.  I did not have any guides or anything to help me.  I just read.  You’d be surprised at how effective that is.

I had been working my way through the book of James.  That night, I was supposed to pick up at the beginning of chapter three.  When my eyes fell on that passage, I instantly memorized it.  It was as if it were seared in my brain with a hot iron.  It reads, “Let not many of you become teachers, my brethren, knowing that as such we will incur a stricter judgment” (James 3:1).  Quiet time was over.  One verse read, one magnificent lesson learned.  The God whom I loved and feared was going to be particularly strict on me in the great day of judgment.  I was stunned.  I still am.

At the time, I was not even active in a particular local Church.  I honestly did not know which to attend, so I went to a few different Churches in town.  The closest thing I had to a “Church” was Campus Crusade.  That’s not even a Church.  The fact that I had no Church, and therefore I had no idea which Church I should teach in, bothered me a great deal.  I had a lot of studying and work to do.  After all, my judgment will hinge on what I teach people.  I had better be accurate, and I had better be humble and open to correction.

This is the beginning of my understanding of my sojourn in this world as a teacher and pastor.  I am going to write a few posts as to how my understanding of what it means to be me has grown over the years, especially the last year and a half.  

Reading Through the Bible

I am currently on a mission to read through the Bible in a year. My brother-in-law and I decided that it would be a good idea for us to attempt this together for accountability purposes. It is hard for me to stay on track with a daily Bible reading plan without someone to make me feel guilty for being a slacker. (Besides studying for sermon preparation, which is something different.)

Recently, we read through the book of Esther. I had forgotten how much I love that story. It is one of the best stories in all of literature, in my opinion. There's romance, killing, tremendous irony, and heroism galore. I love that story. The best thing about it is that it is a true story. Mordecai and Esther are my heroes.

So, if you're looking for a book of the Bible to read, go and read Esther. It is fabulous. Currently, I'm working through Job. I have a long post coming on that one, I believe. If I can get time to do something of substance.