I have had a bit of writer's block lately, and I have not had much time to exercise it out of my system these past few days.
I have spent some time reading Chesterton's Orthodoxy in the past week, along with some other books. (It's available online at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library.) It is an interesting work; Chesterton's brand of thought it not so prevalent today. He would eat most journalists for lunch. It's scary to think that the early 1900s had Chesterton, but we just get Andy Rooney.1
I have spent some time talking with friends about morals and moral authority, also. It is a difficult thing to summarize (and I have tried), made all the more so because I am not at liberty to divulge their stories. Suffice it to say that any attempt at relative morality really defeats itself.
Tim Enloe (blog at right) also wrote a couple small biographical sketches recently that readers might be interested in. Boethius among others—they're short, to the point, and easily digestible. Pick'em out.
[1] I have often thought it ironic that a man who has no reason to complain is paid to do so on a regular basis.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
How God Loves Us
On a day we celebrate love (and oftentimes, so many lesser things), it seems fitting to write about the love God has for us. The typical chapter on love is 1 Corinthians 13—the "love chapter." So many times we see this quoted in the context of our love for one another; but it seems worthwhile to examine it from the vertical perspective, too.
The quotes are somewhat adapted from the KJV.
"Love is patient and kind." Literally, "Love suffers long." The Greek is more the idea of enduring what may be changed or moderating temper rather than bearing up under circumstances beyond our control. Romans 2.4 speaks about this dramatically:
The context of Romans two is not morale-boosting, as the Spirit is rather systematically destroying any notion of righteousness through moral living. But tucked in this verse is the understanding that God is patient with us in our sin, and that he leads us to repent. The word "kind" here is the verb form of the word "goodness" in Romans 2.4.
So we see that God demonstrates his love in two clear ways: he puts up with our sin and failure, and he brings us out of both.
"Love does not envy, is not boastful, is not puffed up." These three attributes encapsulate so well the incarnation:
(Philippians 2.) Not having experienced glory fully, it is difficult for us to wrap our heads around what Christ did by coming to Earth. We know that the cross was agony, but I think we might consider, too, that simply limiting himself to our form and likeness was as much, if not more, to endure. God expresses his love through the incarnation, an act of calculated humiliation—exactly the opposite of envy, boasting, and arrogance.
"Love does not behave unbecomingly, does not seek her own, is not easily provoked." Perhaps we overdo it here when looking at these characteristics of love—I think it's fairly obvious that Christ exhibits them all, but it is difficult (for me, at least) to relate them personally to our redemption. It seems fitting to quote Isaiah 42:
"Love thinks no evil, rejoices not in iniquity, but in the truth." Thinks no evil is literally, "keeps no record of wrong-doing." It staggers the imagination:
How does God show his love for us? He casts away and forgets our sin. We find two words in the New Testament translated "forgive." The first is a legal word (whence we get the word translated "grace"); it is the payment of a debt owed by a benefactor on behalf of one who can't pay. The second word is a word of fellowship, and it (somewhat too literally) means "to make [something] go away." We might render it more aptly as "to forget." It's the word we see in 1 John 1:9, that when we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive them.1
It's amazing to me that God doesn't keep a record of our sin.
"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." The middle section is the harder; but I think it is clear from Christ's sufferings that he did indeed bear and endure all things. But he also hoped:
I think, perhaps, that "believes all things" and "hopes all things" are analogous here, or at least that is what I'm going to say; this blog posting is getting rather long.
[1] One of the great lessons of this passage is that confession is an agreement. We admit our sin, and we agree with God that yes, it's sin, and yes, he's taken care of it. Our fellowship with him is restored when we are brought to two realizations: first, that we are sinners, and second, that he has made us righteous through the sacrifice of Christ.
For awhile, I think the Roman Catholic Church taught that one's sins weren't forgiven unless he confessed (at least Shakespeare takes this point up in Hamlet, though I suppose he wasn't a theologian). This verse certainly doesn't support that position, because it talks about fellowship, not the answering of the sin debt.
The quotes are somewhat adapted from the KJV.
"Love is patient and kind." Literally, "Love suffers long." The Greek is more the idea of enduring what may be changed or moderating temper rather than bearing up under circumstances beyond our control. Romans 2.4 speaks about this dramatically:
Or despisest thou the riches of his goodness and forbearance and longsuffering; not knowing that the goodness of God leadeth thee to repentance?
The context of Romans two is not morale-boosting, as the Spirit is rather systematically destroying any notion of righteousness through moral living. But tucked in this verse is the understanding that God is patient with us in our sin, and that he leads us to repent. The word "kind" here is the verb form of the word "goodness" in Romans 2.4.
So we see that God demonstrates his love in two clear ways: he puts up with our sin and failure, and he brings us out of both.
"Love does not envy, is not boastful, is not puffed up." These three attributes encapsulate so well the incarnation:
6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, 7 but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. 8 And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.
(Philippians 2.) Not having experienced glory fully, it is difficult for us to wrap our heads around what Christ did by coming to Earth. We know that the cross was agony, but I think we might consider, too, that simply limiting himself to our form and likeness was as much, if not more, to endure. God expresses his love through the incarnation, an act of calculated humiliation—exactly the opposite of envy, boasting, and arrogance.
"Love does not behave unbecomingly, does not seek her own, is not easily provoked." Perhaps we overdo it here when looking at these characteristics of love—I think it's fairly obvious that Christ exhibits them all, but it is difficult (for me, at least) to relate them personally to our redemption. It seems fitting to quote Isaiah 42:
2 He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street. 3 A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth.
"Love thinks no evil, rejoices not in iniquity, but in the truth." Thinks no evil is literally, "keeps no record of wrong-doing." It staggers the imagination:
Psalm 103:12 As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.
Isaiah 38:17 Behold, for peace I had great bitterness: but thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the pit of corruption: for thou hast cast all my sins behind thy back.
Jeremiah 50:20 In those days, and in that time, saith the LORD, the iniquity of Israel shall be sought for, and there shall be none; and the sins of Judah, and they shall not be found: for I will pardon them whom I reserve.
Micah 7:19 He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.
How does God show his love for us? He casts away and forgets our sin. We find two words in the New Testament translated "forgive." The first is a legal word (whence we get the word translated "grace"); it is the payment of a debt owed by a benefactor on behalf of one who can't pay. The second word is a word of fellowship, and it (somewhat too literally) means "to make [something] go away." We might render it more aptly as "to forget." It's the word we see in 1 John 1:9, that when we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive them.1
It's amazing to me that God doesn't keep a record of our sin.
"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." The middle section is the harder; but I think it is clear from Christ's sufferings that he did indeed bear and endure all things. But he also hoped:
Psalm 22:9 But thou art he that took me out of the womb: thou didst make me hope when I was upon my mother's breasts.
I think, perhaps, that "believes all things" and "hopes all things" are analogous here, or at least that is what I'm going to say; this blog posting is getting rather long.
[1] One of the great lessons of this passage is that confession is an agreement. We admit our sin, and we agree with God that yes, it's sin, and yes, he's taken care of it. Our fellowship with him is restored when we are brought to two realizations: first, that we are sinners, and second, that he has made us righteous through the sacrifice of Christ.
For awhile, I think the Roman Catholic Church taught that one's sins weren't forgiven unless he confessed (at least Shakespeare takes this point up in Hamlet, though I suppose he wasn't a theologian). This verse certainly doesn't support that position, because it talks about fellowship, not the answering of the sin debt.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
John 1.11-13
John 1.12 is well known in the soul-winner's handbook:
Ignoring for a moment that they usually quote it without the rest of the sentence (or even the rest of the thought, as happens most often with Romans 3.23), the verse seems a powerful statement in some respects to the Reformed position.
Post-reformation decision theology states, "If you believe, then you're born again," and John 1.12 is often trotted out as a proof text. Both the Reformers and the Catholics would disagree, however—regeneration (the new birth) precedes belief.1 (Naturally the two groups go in a somewhat different direction thereafter.)
So today someone mentioned John 1.12 as a proof that the Calvinistic persuasion that one must be regenerated before believing was wrong.
But I think that if we look a bit more carefully, we'll find a somewhat different picture painted here:
Something should immediately bother us here: God's giving people who are born of God (verse 13) the right to become children of God (verse 12). Doesn't this seem a little obvious?
We might attempt to get around this by saying, "Well, everyone is God's child," which is sometimes done. Being a child of God is, in other words, basically just contingent on being physically born. But we know that this doesn't square with the rest of the verse, which gives us the idea that the birth isn't physical.
A perhaps better approach is to treat the phrase "children of God" as a title. We're still stuck with the obviousness of the statement, but we avoid any glaring issues with the spiritual nature of verse 13.
The key in this approach is verse 11, where we read that Jesus came to his own people and was rejected by them. His own people were Jews. Recall that the Israelites were always God's children, and they were considered his children by being born a Jew. (There were, of course, means of naturalization, e.g., circumcision.) They considered themselves children of God by virtue of their physical heritage. We see this in John 8:
The Jews, in other words, considered God to be their father because Abraham was their father. They excluded Gentiles because of genetics.
This, I think, is the message of John 1.12. Those who did receive Christ were given the same rights and standing as God's children that formerly belonged exclusively to the Jew. This was not based in physical birth, but in spiritual birth. Those who received Christ were born of God and were invested with the right that belonged to the Jews, who rejected Christ (v 11).
The verse does not say that if we believe, we're born again. It speaks to the unity of the body of Christ (cf Ga 3.28). It is clear that man is not born spiritually of his own will, but rather of God. There is no synergy in the new birth.
[1] This follows from the fall. Fallen man cannot in any way remedy his condition; the flesh cannot believe. (The works of the flesh are enumerated in Galatians 5, and they're all evil.) We are dead in sin (Ep 2) and must be made alive before we can believe. This spiritual birth is "being born again," or regenerated. It doesn't happen by believing—the spiritually dead don't believe. They just can't.
But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God,
Ignoring for a moment that they usually quote it without the rest of the sentence (or even the rest of the thought, as happens most often with Romans 3.23), the verse seems a powerful statement in some respects to the Reformed position.
Post-reformation decision theology states, "If you believe, then you're born again," and John 1.12 is often trotted out as a proof text. Both the Reformers and the Catholics would disagree, however—regeneration (the new birth) precedes belief.1 (Naturally the two groups go in a somewhat different direction thereafter.)
So today someone mentioned John 1.12 as a proof that the Calvinistic persuasion that one must be regenerated before believing was wrong.
But I think that if we look a bit more carefully, we'll find a somewhat different picture painted here:
11 He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. 12 But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, 13 who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.
Something should immediately bother us here: God's giving people who are born of God (verse 13) the right to become children of God (verse 12). Doesn't this seem a little obvious?
We might attempt to get around this by saying, "Well, everyone is God's child," which is sometimes done. Being a child of God is, in other words, basically just contingent on being physically born. But we know that this doesn't square with the rest of the verse, which gives us the idea that the birth isn't physical.
A perhaps better approach is to treat the phrase "children of God" as a title. We're still stuck with the obviousness of the statement, but we avoid any glaring issues with the spiritual nature of verse 13.
The key in this approach is verse 11, where we read that Jesus came to his own people and was rejected by them. His own people were Jews. Recall that the Israelites were always God's children, and they were considered his children by being born a Jew. (There were, of course, means of naturalization, e.g., circumcision.) They considered themselves children of God by virtue of their physical heritage. We see this in John 8:
39 They answered him, "Abraham is our father." Jesus said to them, "If you were Abraham's children, you would be doing what Abraham did, 40 but now you seek to kill me, a man who has told you the truth that I heard from God. This is not what Abraham did. 41 You are doing what your father did." They said to him, "We were not born of sexual immorality. We have one Father—even God."
The Jews, in other words, considered God to be their father because Abraham was their father. They excluded Gentiles because of genetics.
This, I think, is the message of John 1.12. Those who did receive Christ were given the same rights and standing as God's children that formerly belonged exclusively to the Jew. This was not based in physical birth, but in spiritual birth. Those who received Christ were born of God and were invested with the right that belonged to the Jews, who rejected Christ (v 11).
The verse does not say that if we believe, we're born again. It speaks to the unity of the body of Christ (cf Ga 3.28). It is clear that man is not born spiritually of his own will, but rather of God. There is no synergy in the new birth.
[1] This follows from the fall. Fallen man cannot in any way remedy his condition; the flesh cannot believe. (The works of the flesh are enumerated in Galatians 5, and they're all evil.) We are dead in sin (Ep 2) and must be made alive before we can believe. This spiritual birth is "being born again," or regenerated. It doesn't happen by believing—the spiritually dead don't believe. They just can't.
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