When Bible publishers started coloring the words of Jesus in red, it changed the way we would read our Bibles. Some of us began to pay attention to the statements in red more than the other ones. Some of us have made the error of treating the statements in red as if they were somehow more authoritative or “scriptural” than the other words.
I came up with an idea a few days ago as I’ve been seriously evaluating my prayer life. I’ve begun to wonder how my prayer life could be transformed if I began to pray like the people in Scripture prayed — how the saints cried out to God and praised God, how different people reacted to things Jesus said or did, how the Holy Spirit directed people to trust God, etc.
So my idea is to highlight the words that are not in red. I want to study the words uttered by the saints in response to how God was working or how he was revealing himself. The goal isn’t just to copy their prayers but to look at how God provoked their prayers and answered their prayers, since the same God who was at work in history in their lives is the same God with whom we relate to today.
I’ll let you know how it goes!
I found this little gem from a wonderful book called A Praying Life by Paul E. Miller.
Let’s imagine that you see a prayer therapist to get your prayer life straightened out. The therapist says, “Let’s begin by looking at your relationship with your heavenly Father . . . What does it mean that you are a son or daughter of God?”
You reply that it means you have complete access to your heavenly Father through Jesus. You have true intimacy, based not on how good you are but on the goodness of Jesus. Not only that, Jesus is your brother. You are a fellow heir with him.
The therapist smiles and says, “That is right. You’ve done a wonderful job of describing the doctrine of Sonship. Now tell me what it is like for you to be with your Father. What is it like to talk with him?”
You cautiously tell the therapist how difficult it is to be in your Father’s presence, even for a couple of minutes. Your mind wanders. You aren’t sure what to say. You wonder, Does prayer make any difference? Is God even there? Then you feel guilty for your doubts and just give up.
Your therapist tells you what you already suspect. “Your relationship with your heavenly Father is dysfunctional. You talk as if you have an intimate relationship, but you don’t. Theoretically, it is close. Practically, it is distant, you need help.”
“Sometimes Christians understand progressive revelation in a fairly mechanistic or linear fashion: More truth simply gets added to the pile, to make a bigger pile of truth. But this ‘mystery/revelation’ tension shows that often something is actually there in the Old Testament text . . . that was not seen until the coming of Jesus made it clear.”
D. A. Carson
I have to look for cracks and crevices.
Don’t tell me how God’s mercy
Is as wide as the ocean, as deep as the sea.
I already believe it, but that infinite prospect
Gets farther away the more we mouth it.
I thank you for lamenting his absences—
His absence from marriages going mad,
Our sons dying young, from the inescapable
Terrors of history: Treblinka. Vietnam.
September Eleven. His visible absence
Makes it hard for us in our time
To celebrate his invisible Presence.
This must be why mystics and poets record
The slender incursions of splintered light,
Echoes, fragments, odd words and phrases
Like flashes through darkened hallways.
These stabs remind me that the proud
Portly old church is really only
That cut green slip grafted into a tiny nick
That merciful God himself slit into the stem
Of his chosen Judah. The thin and tenuous
Thread we hang by, so astonishing,
Is the metaphor I need at the shoreline
Of all those immeasurable oceans of love.
Rod Jellema
I wrote this a couple of weeks ago but for some reason didn’t get to post it. This is Part 2 of a series of reflections on things that bother me about my generation (and subsequently, about myself).
My soul, thou art emerged in sin,
So deep that none can trace;
Look to the ransom God decreed
To clear the guilty race.
Had I the guilt of all the world,
He’s able to forgive:
Why should I fear? The debt is paid.
If only I believe.
The atonement once made on the tree,
Can balance many more
Than all the sins of Adam’s race,
If numbered over and over.
He paid the mighty sum and died
For sinners yet unborn;
From men, the works of his own hands,
He suffered shame and scorn.
William Williams, “Why Should I Fear?”
I started reading through Herman Bavinck’s Essays on Religion, Science, and Society last Friday. Much of his writings (including his Reformed Dogmatics) cover the intersection of theology with philosophy and culture. In that sense, he is thoroughly Reformed. Surprisingly, his insights into modern thought are still as timely as they were when he first recorded them.
I know, the title sounds completely arrogant and self-righteous. Hope you read this anyway.
One of my highlights at the NEXT conference was Kevin DeYoung’s message on the life of Christ (audio here). DeYoung walked us through Luke 8:22-56 where Jesus rebukes a storm, delivers a demoniac, heals a hemorrhaging (thus ceremonially unclean) woman, and resuscitates a dead girl. Such miraculous signs are meant to point us to the greater reality of Christ’s identity as divine Lord. The application of this truth is simple, yet profound: Tremble!
