The challenge in our day is not to reject comfort, but to redefine it. When we think of comfort, we think of entitlement, safety, independence, financial security, etc. But Christian comfort is different. It is comfort rooted in Christ alone. It speaks of true security and assurance, and because it is a perfect guarantee in Christ it provides a radical freedom to be others-centered, sacrificial, risk-taking, committed, etc.

The first question of the Heidelberg Catechism puts it this way:

Q: What is my only comfort in life and death?

A: That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.

True CHARACTER is revealed in the choices a human being makes under pressure – the greater the pressure, the deeper the revelation, the truer the choice to the character’s essential nature.

Beneath the surface of characterization, regardless of appearances, who is this person? At the heart of his humanity, what will we find? Is he loving or cruel? Generous or selfish? Strong or weak? Truthful or a liar? Courageous or cowardly? The only way to know the truth is to witness him make choices under pressure to take one action or another in the pursuit of his desire. As he chooses, he is.

Pressure is essential. Choices made when nothing is at risk mean little. If a character chooses to tell the truth in a situation where telling a lie would gain him nothing, the choice is trivial, the moment expresses nothing. But if the same character insists on telling the truth when a lie would save his life, then we sense that honesty is at the core of his nature.

While in seminary, I was introduced to a collection of prayers from the Puritans of the late 16th and 17th century.

The first prayer in the book, “The Valley of Vision,” has been one I’ve returned to many times to be reminded that the Christian life is not as glamorous and exciting as we often long for it to be. It’s paradoxical. Losses are gains. I think of the Beatitudes. I find that as I relate to the Jesus I read about in the Bible I too am drawn toward the hurting and the broken.

This seems to be a common theme I’ve wrestled with over the past year. Strangely enough, it’s not the successes and the victories that have shaped me over the years and have made me who I am. I find that I am far more shaped by my trials and the broken places in my life where I’ve needed healing and hope.

In a note I scribbled down several months ago (I tend to get rid of my ramblings after a while), there was this phrase I wrote down that stayed with me. I wrote, “Through suffering, God has transformed my praise.” Christianity is so mysterious sometimes. God chooses suffering as the primary means of redemption, hope, and healing. Who could make this stuff up?

Here’s the prayer:

Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly,
Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.

Let me learn by paradox
that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
that to give is to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.

Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter thy stars shine;

Let me find thy light in my darkness,
thy life in my death,
thy joy in my sorrow,
thy grace in my sin,
thy riches in my poverty,
thy glory in my valley.

Who am I to represent the thoughts of a group of people before God? It’s hard enough expressing my own needs, desires, praise, and thanks.

There are times when, as I begin to pray, I start to think about other things to praise God about. I’d like to mention these things, but then I have to remember that people are just expecting me to bless the meal.

Also, it’s harder to pray using the words we or our when I’m aware that people are busy thinking about which slice of pizza they’re going after once I’m done praying. Or worse: that they’re busy analyzing my prayer.

Sometimes I wish I could pause during my prayer and actually think about what to say to God (using phrases like “Hmm…” or “I guess what I’m trying to say is…”) so that what I say is much more meaningful. But that would be awkward. People would think I’ve messed up the prayer.

And now that I think about it, the way we approach praying before meals in itself is awkward. I know it has its place in the life of the church, but I wonder how often it’s used as a means of tacking the Christian label on activities in which the people have anything but fellowship in mind.

I wonder if the person who took this photo told the kid to pose. I hope not. I hope it was the real thing. I hope his parents or someone else caught him in a moment of honesty before God. I imagine a lot of people would see this photo and say, “Aw, that’s so cute.” If it were real, this cute kid would put us to shame.

Here’s how I think this works. We’ve been created with a need to feel like we belong, but ever so often we make the mistake of idolizing a certain group of people in order to get that sense of belonging.

“Maybe if I can get in with them, then I’ll know I’m okay.”

I think this comes from a place of deep insecurity. People who fall into this trap were at one point on the outside looking in. But having entered in, all that matters is that they stay in, which means everyone on the outside is excluded, ridiculed, and devalued. Lines are drawn, and it becomes us versus them. I wrestle with what it means for there to be an us, and how to be a part of us while still being Christ to them.

It’s dangerous to get in with a group of people. Here are some of the things I see happening to people who fall into this trap:

• Groupthink
• Dulled consciences
• Gossip and slander about them
• Inferiority/superiority complex toward them
• Callousedness toward them

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

Part 1 was about how we tend to be overly obsessive about journeying through life’s stages without being too concerned with our destination. Our fascination with newness is a gut-reaction toward previous generations’ focus on oldness. Whereas previous generations emphasized religious tradition or the deification of reason, our emerging generation asks, “Where did that get us?” resulting in a “we don’t care” mentality. And that sort of mentality leads to our seeking the middle ground in all things.

The middle ground is the new standard. It discourages lengthy debates and strong opinions, unless of course these debates and opinions are held against representations of the previous generation. Our generation is united in our rebellion against the older generation’s issues (i.e.,”Where did that get us?”). So the middle ground is the new moral high ground. But it’s not the high ground–it’s mediocrity.

My generation of Christians also seek the middle ground. We see extremes like conservatism and liberalism and say, “It’s not good to be either, so I’ll just be in-between.” So then you’ve got people who don’t cuss (against liberalism) but then also don’t care about spreading the Gospel (against conservatism), or you’ve got people who don’t engage in premarital sex (against liberalism) but enjoy music with tons of sexual content (against conservatism). The Gospel is not the fine line between conservatism and liberalism — it’s the freedom to do what’s right according to one’s Word-informed conscience with Christ-exalting heart motives.

A growing number of Christians find themselves in the tiresome tension between legalism and liberalism. We know conservatism (of the legalistic variety) is wrong, but don’t know any other way to feel like we’re growing in holiness. So either we return to legalism or we fall into liberalism, saying, “Oh well, if God wants to change me he will do it on his own.” I see most young Christians going in this second direction, while the older generation tends toward legalism.

The other option is not a tension between legalism and licentiousness, but it is still a tension. It’s the tension between radical holiness and radical pardon. It’s about knowing God’s holy standards with regard to sin and righteousness, but also God’s holy provision for sin and righteousness in Christ. Jesus says our righteousness must exceed that of the Pharisees. It has to be more radical than the righteousness born of legalism. It has to be born of the Gospel. It has to come from a heart continually being melted by the grace of God in the Gospel.

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?”

In his essay “The Philosophy of Religion,” he surveys philosophers such as Kant, Rosseau, and Hegel, showing how they all tended to limit religion to “one human faculty,” emphasizing either the rational, mystical, or ethical.  But biblical revelation does not give us license to emphasize one over the other.  He proposes, “if we want to do full justice to religion, we must return to the central unity in man . . . which in Holy Scripture is often designated the heart, from which proceed all expressions of life in mind, feeling, and will.”  In other words, don’t limit your interactions with God to only one realm of life. Don’t compartmentalize God!

God is grieved when we relegate him to our habits of study, prayer, or duty. It is as if we only wish to make him Lord over those particular areas of our lives. That’s why God becomes irrelevant to so many people who are interested in art, politics, leisure, health, social justice, technology, marriage, etc. That’s why when people think of sold-out Christians all that comes to mind are people who read their Bible, read theology, pray, and try to be good.

Bavinck laments the failure of post-reformation theologians to bring the reformed worldview to bear on all of life:

It is even surprising how little the principle of faith that people confessed was developed in different directions or applied to various areas of life in the centuries of orthodoxy. After a time of struggle, when a firm doctrine was established, there soon appeared a traditional dogmatics. Later theologians simply agreed with the earlier pronouncements and naively copied them. Hardly anyone felt a need for development. They rested on the laurels that the fathers had achieved, keeping what they had, but they did not sufficiently consider continuing reformation. That is why in our century there is so much for Reformed peoplt o do, not only academically but also practically.

Usually when someone writes a diatribe against young people in any culture, it tends to come from the assumption that oldness — a commitment to anything traditional or old-fashioned — is superior to the new. Just so you know, I’m not that guy.

Actually, I disdain oldness for a very specific reason related to my disappointment with my generation. Oldness is all about preserving the culture of the past for the sake of it being how it used to be. Contrast that with newness — a commitment to anything progressive or counter-cultural. Oldness is concerned with what is believed to be tried and true, but newness is concerned with experimentation or trial-and-error.

My disdain of oldness is that its proponents have touted the tried but untrue, resulting in the emergence of a new generation committed to aimlessness and triviality. The old generation consisted of truth-seekers, while my generation consists of wanderers who embrace the idea of journeying but have no intention of reaching a destination.

If you think about it both are forms of trendiness, which the progressive counter-culture allegedly rejects but doesn’t. Both stifle creativity, being more reactionary than trailblazing. Both find their identity and thrive in rejecting one another, but this also means they can never exist without one another. All the while, oldness knows that it is old. Newness, on the other hand, is a hypocrite.

This is a philosophical conundrum. Culture is constantly moving between the polar opposites of newness and oldness. Do we forge ahead or return to old paths? If we return to old paths, we hinder good progress. If we continue to forge ahead, how many more creative forms of sin must we construct before we feel satisfied in our novelty? This is an issue our postmodern culture is currently facing, which is why postmodern culture gravitates toward retrofitting things of the past (e.g., Nintendo emulators on iPhones).

Where are we headed in the future? Cultural analysts love asking that question, but they’re asking the wrong question. The question they should be asking is, “Where will we end up?” The question of where we’re headed is concerned with the journeying and not necessarily the destination. But if there is no destination or no way to get there, then why journey to begin with? The point is that the soul’s ache for creativity, journeying, and forging ahead means that we are created and designed for a destination.

The worldview of the Bible answers this conundrum. Proponents of oldness love to quote the Bible in their defense of oldness, but did you know that the Bible is infinitely far more progressive than postmodern culture will ever be? The Bible not only calls us to return to old paths for the sake of their being old, but because those old paths point to a Creator God who is the originator of all that is new (e.g., Isa 42:9, 43:19, 48:6; Ps 98:1, 33:3, 40:3, 96:1, 149:1).

God is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning (of oldest old) and the end (of newest new). He is outside of time, meaning that he is not bound by time. As such, he is the only one who is truly able to bring newness to bear on the old. While we merely reinvent, he recreates. If we truly wanted to be progressive, we would go with him instead of constantly trying to rehash ourselves and our cultures in search of some semblance of a new identity.

I was reminded of something I’ve grown quite familiar with: Jesus is holy. He is our friend, our elder brother, and our merciful high priest. But he is also the majestic Lord to whom we owe fullest obedience. DeYoung told us, “He is more frightening than you think . . . you may not know Jesus if you’ve never trembled before him.” Jesus’ rebuking the storm and causing it to cease had the effect terrifying his disciples, leading them to conclude that this same man with whom they’ve shared intimate fellowship isn’t exactly safe to be around.

Since that evening, I’ve spent a considerable amount of time reflecting on what it means to take on the heart-posture of trembling before King Jesus. It means Jesus is not merely cute or cool or my homeboy. It means I do not merely “dabble” in the activities of one who seeks to know and serve him. If there is no holy awe and reverence in my relating to him, then I am guilty of idolatry of the worst kind. Not only do I bow before that which is not God, but I take God’s divine name and ascribe it to a figment of my own imagination.

But to acknowledge such miracles is somehow not enough to cause me to tremble before him. There is a reality far more astonishing than the obedience of a storm, a demon, a sickness, or even death itself. Greater cause for trembling is found in beholding the crucifixion of this holy King.

The wrath of God has fallen upon this holy Son of God! That wrath which is revealed throughout the pages of Scripture against all ungodliness and unrighteousness has fallen on him who is infinitely holy and deserving of worship. Unless I see this, I will not draw near to God in repentance and faith. The crucifixion of God’s holy Son requires my trembling, or else I have no part in its benefits! May I not be too happy in the world to see, mourn, and tremble before the cross of Christ!

I probably shouldn’t feel like this, but coming back to this blog is a bit like picking up an old book I could never finish reading (I’ve got plenty of those on my bookshelves) or like some unfinished work of art. Sometimes, that’s what life looks like too. Maybe in the future I’ll look back at this blog and realize how foolish and scatterbrained I was. But good news, when I look back at my life I will see the fingerprints of God’s providence on every memory recorded.

Last semester was tough for a variety of reasons. For one, school kept me busy. But also, thoughts about the future gave me more anxiety than I’ve ever experienced. Right now I feel an immense peace about it all. I realize I’ve been foolish to try to discern all of the details concerning God’s will for my future in pastoral ministry. It seems most if not all guys who enter into pastoral ministry are surprised by where God takes them. I think I’d like to be surprised too. I’m going to trust God to do that.

I just returned from the NEXT conference. The whole conference was centered on the person and work of Jesus. I’ve never been to a event more explicitly Christ-exalting than this one. We learned about Christ’s pre-eminence, incarnation, life, death, resurrection, and return. The teachers were so disciplined in their preparation and delivery. The line up was outstanding: Josh Harris, D. A. Carson, Kevin DeYoung, C. J. Mahaney, and Sinclair Ferguson. Hopefully I’ll post some quotes later on.

Right now I’m in VA staying with my family and catching up with some friends. Then it’s back down to Orlando on Saturday!

You passionately love Jesus, but you don’t really want to be like Him. You admire His humility, but you don’t want to be THAT humble. You think it’s beautiful that He washed the feet of the disciples, but that’s not exactly the direction your life is headed. You’re thankful He was spit upon and abused, but you would never let that happen to you. You praise Him for loving you enough to suffer during His whole time on earth, but you’re going to do everything within your power to make sure you enjoy your time down here.

In short: You think He’s a great Savior, but not a great role model.

I’ve heard that if you want to get someone else hungry, the quickest and most effective is to eat in front of them. I’ve also heard that this principle applies to the Bible. Reading it, learning from it, applying it, and enjoying it has to be modeled.

I used to always hear that sort of statement and think, “Gee, I’d better start reading my Bible more so that I can inspire spiritual hunger in others.” But that’s missing the point. The point is not, “Read the Bible more!” Rather, watch others eat!

Yesterday one of the visiting professors from RTS Atlanta, John Yeo, shared his experiences learning from the late Edmund Clowney at WTS California. He told us Clowney would cry often as he walked through the pages of the Old Testament and showed the students how every passage points to Christ. Clowney was anything but a dry scholar during his time on earth. His love for Jesus and his enjoyment of God’s Word was infectious!

Luke 24 records a 7-mile walk with Jesus and two disciples after the resurrection. The disciples didn’t recognize who was walking with them until he led them in the most engaging Bible study ever. Verse 27 says, “And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.” Later on after he left them, the disciples turned to one another and said, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?” (v. 32).

God is the sovereign, transcendent and personal God who has made the universe, including us, his image-bearers. Our misery lies in our rebellion, our alienation from God, which, despite his forbearance, attracts his implacable wrath. But God, precisely because love is of the very essence of his character, takes the initiative and prepared for the coming of his own Son by raising up a people who, by covenantal stipulations, temple worship, systems of sacrifice and of priesthood, by kings and by prophets, are taught something of what God is planning and what he expects. In the fullness of time his Son comes and takes on human nature. He comes not, in the first instance, to judge but to save: he dies the death of his people, rises from the grave and, in returning to his heavenly Father, bequeaths the Holy Spirit as the down payment and guarantee of the ultimate gift he has secured for them—an eternity of bliss in the presence of God himself, in a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness. The only alternative is to be shut out from the presence of this God forever, in the torments of hell. What men and women must do, before it is too late, is repent and trust Christ; the alternative is to disobey the gospel.

D. A. Carson. “The Biblical Gospel.” Pages 75–85 in For Such a Time as This: Perspectives on Evangelicalism, Past, Present and Future. Edited by Steve Brady and Harold Rowdon. London: Evangelical Alliance, 1996.

In the 1790s, revival broke out in Northampton, CT under the ministry of Jonathan Edwards. And apart from this blog post’s title, you’d never be able to guess what caused it. Historian Stephen J. Nichols records the following:

…there was a most unexpected work of God in converting a particular person in Edwards’s own town of Northampton. He discreetly refers to her as a “company keeper,” which more than likely meant that she was a prostitute . . . He, however, feared that the congregation would not rejoice with her but instead look upon her with contempt. Again he was surprised: “The event was the reverse, to a wonderful degree; God made it, I suppose, the greatest occasion of awakening to others, of anything that ever came to pass in the town.” Edwards makes a rather self-effacing comment, attributing the revivals not to his own preaching so much as to this unlikely instrument used by God. In his view, the display of grace in this anonymous woman’s life sparked the revival.

Stephen Nichols, Jonathan Edwards: A Guided Tour of His Life and Thought

The cause? A prostitute. More importantly, what did this revival look like?

Using the terms of the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15), one of the highest marks of revival is when prodigal sons come home and are embraced by their elder brothers. It is a miracle in itself that the prodigal would come home, but it is a far greater miracle that such a prodigal would be accepted and elder brothers would be stirred out of their complacency.

That’s what true revival looks like. God’s grace melts the heart of both the religious and the irreligious, and they are reconciled to one another to celebrate the redemption and forgiveness of sins that has come through Jesus Christ.

When the religious authorities of Jesus’s day asked him what the greatest commandment was, he gave them the first two greatest commandments: “You shall love the Lord your God” and “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” And then he told them that all the other commands are founded on those two (Matt 22:34-40).

It is interesting to note that the religious authorities were originally asking Jesus about marriage. Perhaps Jesus had Adam and Eve in mind when he was answering their question about the greatest commandment.

That could either be speculation, or I could also be on to something.

Why didn’t Jesus just give the first commandment? Why give both the first and the second?

I think it’s because these two loves (love for God and love for neighbor) are so tied to one another that they can’t be thought of as separate acts. It’s impossible to love God unless we love our neighbors as ourselves.

In part 2, I shared how God made humanity in his image as male and female. Could it be that the sacrificial, “as-yourself” kind of love shared between Adam and Eve as well as all other husbands and wives reflect the nature of God’s love in its most essential form? Could it be that the degree to which we understand humanity as the image of God is the degree to which we will learn how to see the opposite sex as we were meant to see one another?

It would explain a lot.

For starters, men are known to treat women like dirt, like sex objects to be robbed of their dignity. I think that has a lot to do with our failure to see men and women alike in the image of God, and to see the value in that.

To bring it closer to home, it’s difficult for any guy to watch pornography if they’re deeply aware that the person on the screen is God’s image. Every guy should be confronted with this reality, as if God were saying to them, “You’re going to do that to my image?”

Next post in this series: How Adam failed to love Eve, and why there is still hope for the redemption of human sexuality…

There’s  an important question that needs to be raised here: Was Adam being selfish? After all it seems wrong for any man to say, “I need to find a woman so that I can become who I am!” What about respecting her individuality? What about who she is?

But what is more honoring to a woman? Disregard or esteem? The first says, “She’s on her own,” but the second says, “She’s my queen!” The first says, “I’ll have nothing to do with her” but the second says, “We’re literally joined at the hip!”

Adam called Eve “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (Gen 2:23). Some say that the phrase “bone of my bones” and “flesh of my flesh” parallels the phrases “king of kings” or “lord of lords.” Perhaps Adam was saying that Eve was the best part of who he was. She is the “excellent wife” who is “the crown of her husband” (Pro 12:4).

Adam didn’t need Eve in order to use her, but to love her as himself. The implications for this understanding of sexuality are far-reaching and will require at least three more posts…