Is "grace" the loveliest word? Perhaps not

by Dan Phillips

I have long heard (and long said) that the dearest word in a sinner's vocabulary is grace. Of course, I still believe it is a dear and a powerful word — but another word is challenging its place in my heart.

It's struck home as I have been preaching a series on the much-neglected letter to Titus. Among the many delights in this letter is Paul's repeated use of a particular title for Father and Son. Here are my translations of the relevant verses:

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1:3  but He made His word apparent in His own seasons, in the proclamation with which I myself was entrusted, by order of our Savior God;

1:4  to Titus, genuine child in accord with our shared faith: grace and[1] peace, from God the Father, and Christ Jesus our Savior.

2:10  not embezzling, but instead exhibiting all good faith, in order that they might adorn the doctrine of our Savior God in all respects.

2:13  looking forward to[2] the blessed[3] hope and appearance of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ;

3:4  But when the kindness and philanthropy of our Savior God appeared,

3:6  Whom He poured out upon us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior,

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[1] Many Greek manuscripts have “mercy” instead of “and.”

[2] Or “eagerly awaiting.”

[3] Or “happy.”

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There it is, the glorious, lovely word: Savior.

Note how Paul alternates: first, he calls the Father Savior, then the Son; then the Father again, then the Son; and yet again the Father, then the Son. One pair in each chapter.

It is a lone word, but so packed with meaning, with instruction, with assurance.

First, in that word Savior lies all my humiliation and self-denial. Savior tells me that I am lost, helpless, hopeless, and without resources within. Savior informs me that I do not merely need God's assistance or encouragement. I am not in need of a Partner, a Helper, an Enabler. I don't need a Co-Signer.

My case is far, far worse. My lot is not unfortunate or challenged; it is a disaster and a devastation. No part of this process can be left with me nor entrusted to me. God does not stand on the shore, calling to me "Swim harder! You can make it!"

No, Savior tells me that I am floating placidly on the ocean bottom, without the least ability to do for myself. A hand out or a hand up would be wasted on me. Nothing less than a Savior will do.

And, second, God is that Savior. This word tells me that Father and Son have undertaken — not merely to try to save me, not to offer salvation to me, not to call me to salvation, but — to save me. This puts the entire burden of the entire enterprise on their shoulders.

And such shoulders! This is the Father who authored the entire plan of salvation in the dim ages of eternity past! This is the Son who mediated creation and carries out the Father's plan, which involves the Father pouring out the Holy Spirit on me richly (richly!) through Jesus the Son. Other shoulders would buckle; other would-be saviors could fail, would fail.

But if Father and Son commit themselves to be my Savior, is there any chance of failure, any possibility of my ultimately being lost? Were that the case, given that God is "the unlying God" (Titus 1:2), He could not in all honesty have taken on Himself the grand and glorious title of Savior. He would have had to style Himself "Salvation-Attempter," or "Good-Hearted Would-Be Rescuer," or "Benevolent Halfway Helper."

But glory to His name, both Father and Son created, chose, and called themselves by a title that proclaims hope and assurance: Savior.

This is worth a moment's more reflection. Suppose you were languishing in despair, and one of  your fellow sufferers cried, "We're saved! Help is on the way!"

"Who?" you gasp.

"A bureaucrat!" came the reply.

Would you rejoice?

Then suppose instead that the answer was "It's... wait... yes, it's God! It's the God who called the universe into being with a word, who gives life to all, who holds all the stars in His hand, and carries everything by the word of His power! God is coming to save us!"

Would that be worth a cry of exultation?

That title Savior calls me to look away from myself, from my every effort and trait and attribute. It bids me leave off constant morbid introspections, incessant spiritual pulse-taking. It beckons me to look to Gethsemane, to see the Son committing Himself to drain every last drop from the cup. It points me to Calvary, where He hangs forsaken by the Father, not for His sins, nor to "try to" save me from my sins, but to be able to end it all with the glorious shout "It is finished!"

It directs me to look to Father and Son, and to call God not only Savior, which is marvelous enough; but, through the glorious Gospel, to call God my Savior.

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All the Responsibilities

Your weekly dose of Spurgeon
posted by Frank Turk

The PyroManiacs devote some space each weekend to highlights from The Spurgeon Archive.The following excerpt is from sermon #762 on the text of Jeremiah 3:14, delivered at the Metropolitan Tabernacle.

y fourth observation is, that this marriage necessitates certain mutual relations. I cannot say "duties," for the word seems out of place on either side. How can I speak of the great God making pledges of faithfulness? and yet with reverence, let me word it so, for in any vocabulary I have hardly words to set it forth. When God becomes a husband, he undertakes to do a husband's part. When he says, "Thy Maker is thy husband," you may rest assured that he does not take the relationship without assuming (well, I must say it) all the responsibilities which belong to that condition. It is the part of God to nourish, to cherish, to shield, to protect, to bless those with whom he condescends, in infinite mercy, to enter into union. When the Lord Jesus Christ became the husband of his church, he felt that he was under an engagement to us, and inasmuch as there were debts incurred, he paid them.


"Yes, said the Son, with her I'll go,
Through all the depths of sin and woe;
And on the cross will even dare
The bitter pains of death to bear."

He never shrunk from the doing of any of those loving works which belong to the husband of his chosen spouse. He exalted the word "husband," and made it to be more full of meaning than it had ever been before, so that the apostle could see it glittering in a new light, and could say, "Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it." Oh, yes! dear friends, there is a responsibility arising out of this relationship, but he of whom we speak has not departed from it; you know he has not. And now, what upon our side? The wife has to reverence her husband, and to be subject unto him in all things. That is precisely our position towards him who has married us. Let his will be our will. Let his wish be our law. Let us not need to be flogged to service, but let us say—


"'Tis love that makes our willing feet
In swift obedience move."

O Christian, if the Master condescends to say, "I am married unto you," you will not any longer ask, "What is my duty?" but you will say, "What can I do for him?" The loving wife does not say, "What is my duty?" and stand coldly questioning how far she should go, and how little she may do, but all that she can do for him who is her husband she will do, and everything that she can think of, every thing she can devote herself to, in striving to please him in all things she will most certainly do and perform. And you and I will do the same if we have realized our union with Christ. O beloved, do not grow sentimental and waste your energies in driveling fancies as some have done. Speak ye of a wife?—where the family is large, the work is heavy, and the responsibility great. I could fain remind you here, did time permit, of the words of King Lemuel, and the prophecy that his mother taught him. Bear with me at least while I admonish you to such a one, that the heart of thy husband may safely trust in thee. Let it be thy care to give meat to thy household. Lay thy hands to the spindle; suffer not thine industry to fail; eat not the bread of idleness. Stretch out thine hand to the poor, and reach forth both thine hands to the needy. Open thy mouth with wisdom, and in thy tongue be the law of kindness. Yea, and consider this with thyself, that in thy regard for all the duties of thy station, thou art fulfilling thy bounden obligations to thy Lord. Short words, but mighty, matchless deeds have told how Jesus loved us. Be it ours to carve our song of love to him on the hearts of some tender nurslings who are cast in our way, and committed to our care. O that the life I now live in the flesh, by faith in the Son of God, might become a poem, and a grateful response to him that loved me, and gave himself for me. I hope we do know, then, that when God says, "I am married unto you," it necessitates mutual relations.

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Assurance: Every Believer's Birthright

by Phil Johnson



was listening to a sermon by D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones not long ago in which he pointed out that assurance is one of the most prominent subjects in the New Testament. Virtually every New Testament epistle was written to address some doubt, answer some question, settle some uncertainty—all of them aimed at stimulating or reinforcing the assurance of believers. Scripture encourages us to have assurance. It is not inherently brash or presumptuous to be confident in your faith.

Shortly after reading that comment by Lloyd-Jones, while doing some research on a totally different theme, I had occasion to review The Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent. Trent was the Roman Catholic Council that was convened in the mid-1500s in order to hammer out an official response from the Roman Catholic Church to the Protestant Reformation.

And let's be candid: the Protestant Reformation had embarrassed the whole Roman Catholic hierarchy in a major way, because in addition to the many doctrinal errors and patently unbiblical and extrabiblical teachings the Reformers challenged, they also shone the bright light of biblical truth on centuries of exploitation of Papal power, gross corruption of the priesthood, spiritual abuse for material profit (including the sale of indulgences and the sale of church offices and political favors for money). Underneath all of this was the most shocking kind of moral rot that went right to the top in the Papal hierarchy. The Roman Catholic Church was totally corrupt.

The council of Trent cleaned up or papered over some of the more obvious exhibitions of rank clerical debauchery. At the very least we could say that Trent somewhat subdued the unbridled corruption of the medieval priesthood, after generations of abuse and corruption that were the hallmark of the priesthood right across Europe.

One other thing that the Council of Trent accomplished was this: They gave clear definition to certain Catholic doctrines that had always been rather hazy and abstruse—such as the doctrine of justification.

But fundamentally, the Council of Trent was a backlash against Protestant teaching.

The popes and bishops of the 16th century were not at all eager to convene a council to discuss the areas of church life and doctrine that needed Reform. It took years to get the council going. Meetings stretched out over about thirty years' time. The bishops convened in fits and starts, working more or less halfheartedly for the first couple of decades. Only in the council's final stages did they show any enthusiasm for the work. By then, they were so eager to antagonize the Protestants and their doctrines that they cranked out document after document pronouncing anathemas on the Reformers.

And in the process (mainly, I think, because they were more interested in countering the Protestants than they were in clarifying biblical truth on the issues they dealt with), they got major points of doctrine wrong in every set of decrees they issued.

For example, in their decree on the doctrine of justification (Council of Trent, Sixth session, chapter 9), they said this: "It is not to be said, that sins are forgiven, or have been forgiven, to any one who boasts of his confidence and certainty of the remission of his sins." In other words, while we can know with certainty that God does forgive sins, no individual can say with any settled certainty—based on faith alone—"My sins are forgiven." Even the priest's declaration of absolution is only good until the next time you sin.

The Council of Trent went on to draw this conclusion: "No one can know with a certainty of faith, which cannot be subject to error, that he has obtained the grace of God."

That's why no faithful Roman Catholic can ever really be sure of his or her salvation, even though they have thousands of priests in thousands of confessionals every day telling people that the sins they confess to the priests are forgiven. Those priests are giving people a deadly false assurance, and even Rome's official doctrine acknowledges that.

But Scripture says this (1 John 5:13): "You may know that you have eternal life." "The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God" (Romans 8:15). "Whoever believes in the Son of God has the testimony in himself. Whoever does not believe God has made him a liar" (1 John 5:10). We're supposed to "be . . . diligent to make [our] calling and election sure" (2 Peter 1:10). Far from saying what the Roman Catholic Church says, that it's sinful—even damnably evil—to be certain that our sins are forgiven and we have received the grace of God—Scripture says, "do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward" (Hebrews 10:35).

Scripture everywhere commends and encourages assurance. Nowhere are we taught to live in a state of perpetual doubt about our personal standing before God. Never does the Bible suggest that we should rely on the false promises of a mere man in a confessional booth who can never offer anything more than a kind of temporary absolution; a spiritual bait-and-switch offer that can never usher anyone into the true rest that is the birthright of those whose faith is authentic.

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Spurgeon's pastoral wisdom in dealing with a woman lacking assurance

by Dan Phillips

I am re-listening to an audio version of Spurgeon's autobiography, and just (re-)heard an anecdote that delighted me. Being one who, as I've shared, has struggled mightily with assurance, it touched me to hear how Spurgeon dealt pastorally with a woman of whose salvation he had no doubt, yet of which she had no assurance. See how CHS tries first one angle, then another, in persisting to reach out to help this poor soul connect her clearly-evident faith with the blessing and assurance that its Object was offering her, relentless pursuing her doubt in loving attempts to drive it out and bring her to the joy that should have been hers. You could say Spurgeon takes her seriously, but does not take her doubt seriously; or he does in the sense that he says in effect, "Well then, if A is troubling you, shouldn't B, C and D follow?" — attempting to loosen her hold on A. We can learn from him; and from her.

Among my early hearers at Waterbeach was one good old woman whom I called “Mrs. Much-afraid.” I feel quite sure she has been many years in Heaven, but she was always fearing that she should never enter the gates of glory. She was very regular in her attendance at the house of God, and was a wonderfully good listener. She used to drink in the gospel; but, nevertheless, she was always doubting, and fearing, and trembling about her own spiritual condition.

She had been a believer in Christ, I should think, for fifty years, yet she had always remained in that timid, fearful, anxious state. She was a kind old soul, ever ready to help her neighbours, or to speak a word to the unconverted; she seemed to me to have enough grace for two people, yet, in her own opinion, she had not half enough grace for one.

One day, when I was talking with her, she told me that she had not any hope at all, she had no faith; she believed that she was a hypocrite.

I said, “Then don’t come to the chapel any more; we don’t want hypocrites there. Why do you come?”

She answered, “I come because I can’t stop away. I love the people of God; I love the house of God; and I love to worship God.”

“Well,” I said, “you are an odd sort of hypocrite; you are a queer kind of unconverted woman.”

“Ah!” she sighed, “you may say what you please, but I have not any hope of being saved.”

So I said to her, “Well, next Sunday, I will let you go into the pulpit, that you may tell the people that Jesus Christ is a liar, and that you cannot trust Him.”

“Oh!” she cried, “I would be torn in pieces before I would say such a thing as that. Why, He cannot lie! Every word He says is true.”

“Then,” I asked, “why do you not believe it?”

She replied, “I do believe it; but, somehow, I do not believe it for myself; I am afraid whether it is for me.”

“Have you not any hope at all?” I asked.

“No,” she answered; so I pulled out my purse, and I said to her, “Now, I have got £5 here, it is all the money I have; but I will give you that £5 for your hope if you will sell it.”

She looked at me, wondering what I meant. “Why!” she exclaimed, “I would not sell it for a thousand worlds.” She had just told me that she had not any hope of salvation, yet she would not sell it for a thousand worlds!

I fully expect to see that good old soul when I get to Heaven, and I am certain she will say to me, “Oh, dear sir, how foolish I was when I lived down there at Waterbeach! I went groaning all the way to glory when I might just as well have gone there singing. I was always troubled and afraid; but my dear Lord kept me by His grace, and brought me safely here.”

She died very sweetly; it was with her as John Bunyan said it was with Miss Much-afraid, Mr. Despondency’s daughter. Mr. Great-heart had much trouble with those poor pilgrims on the road to the Celestial City; for, if there, was only a straw in the way, they were fearful that they would stumble over it. Yet Bunyan says, “When the time was come for them to depart, they went to the brink of the river. The last words of Mr. Despondency were, ‘Farewell night, welcome day.’ His daughter went through the river singing.”

Our Lord often makes it calm and peaceful, or even joyous and triumphant, for His departing timid ones. He puts some of His greatest saints to bed in the dark, and they wake up in the eternal light; but He frequently keeps the candle burning for Mr. Little-faith, Mr. Feeble-mind, Mr. Ready-to-halt, Mr. Despondency, and Miss Much-afraid. They go to sleep in the light, and they also wake up in the land where the Lamb is all the glory for ever and ever.

[C. H. Spurgeon, C. H. Spurgeon's Autobiography, Compiled from His Diary, Letters, and Records, by His Wife and His Private Secretary: Volume 1, 1834-1854, 239-40 (Bellingham, WA: Logos Research Systems, Inc., 2009). A bit of editing (shape, not content) to enhance readability.]

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True Religion, Undefiled

More on gospel faith and the proper role of good works in Christian living
by Phil Johnson

ood works are a fruit of justification, not the means of it. But good works are inevitable as an expression of authentic faith. They are the vital signs of spiritual life. "For as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so also faith apart from works is dead" (James 2:26).

To put it another way: having been justified by faith, we are saved unto a life of good works that flow naturally from saving faith. According to Ephesians 2:10, "We are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."

That's not talking about ceremonial, legalistic, or "religious" works—smells and bells, robes and rituals, outward symbolism and formal liturgy. But the "good works" that are the ineluctable fruit and vital expressions of true faith are spiritual qualities like holiness, humility, compassion, selfless expressions of love for one's neighbor, love for Christ, and a particular love for His people.

That is exactly what James 1:27 means: "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world." James is not suggesting that doctrine doesn't matter. He is not depreciating objective truth. He is not downplaying the content of the gospel message. He is not saying the atoning work of Christ is merely an example for us to follow rather than a vicarious atonement offered to propitiate God. He is certainly not suggesting that if you do enough acts of kindness, it doesn't matter whether you believe in Christ or not.

He is saying that true faith in Christ will inevitably produce works of kindness and love—an overflow of Christ's righteousness. This is an essential, inevitable expression of authentic Christian faith.

Don't miss the vital point: The essence of "true religion" as described by the Word of God is not—and never has been—embodied in altars or animal sacrifices. Its most important expressions are not ceremonies and dietary laws or festivals and priestly institutions. But true religion and undefiled is about real life—everyday life—and a quality of life that reflects the mercy, love, and goodness of Christ in the way we serve and minister to one another.

Not that we have already attained a sufficient righteousness of our own—far from it. As a matter of fact, even our best works are imperfect and therefore worthless for any merit in the sight of God. This cannot be overstressed: our own works play no role whatsoever in justifying us. But every authentic believer has a new heart, new desires, a new love for God and spiritual gifts that enable us to be used by the Holy Spirit in spite of the remnants of sin in our flesh. And we press on toward Christlikeness, because Christ Jesus has made us His own (cf. Philippians 3:12).

In other words, if our faith is truly genuine, there should be some evidence of "faith working through love" (Galatians 5:6) somewhere in our lives.

Conversely, when someone verbally professes faith in Christ but his or her personal life and private thoughts are utterly devoid of good works, personal holiness, righteous desires, love for God, and love for the brethren—that person needs to hear and heed 2 Corinthians 13:5: "Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves. Or do you not realize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless indeed you fail to meet the test!"

In the words of YHWH Himself: "I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings" (Hosea 6:6).

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Purgatory and Assurance Don't Mix

Your weekly dose of Spurgeon
posted by Phil Johnson

The PyroManiacs devote some space each weekend to highlights from The Spurgeon Archive. The following excerpt is from "Full Assurance," a sermon preached on Sunday morning, 28 April 1861, just one month after Spurgeon's congregation held their first worship service at the new Metropolitan Tabernacle, London.

f course, the Papist does not like full assurance. And why? The Pope and his priest would have a lean larder if full assurance were well preached.

Only conceive my brethren, if the Roman Catholic could get the full assurance of salvation, surely the Cardinals would hardly find money enough to buy their red hats. For where were purgatory then?

Purgatory is an impossibility, if full assurance be possible. If a man knows himself to be saved, then he is not to be troubled with a silly fear about waiting in the intermediate state, to be purified with fire, before he can enter into heaven.

Purgatory is only acceptable to those poor trembling souls who know of no sure salvation here, and are glad of this deceptive hope of a salvation to be wrought in the world to come. Purgatory being thus builded upon a lying imposition—on the fears of ignorant consciences—becomes what brave old Hugh Latimer used to call it, "Purgatory Pick-purse," to the poor sinner, and Purgatory Fill-purse to the vagabond priest.

Once let full assurance be given to all Christian men—first make the Romanist a Christian, and then let him be fully assured of his interest in Christ, and away goes purgatory, and there will never be a soul found to tremble at it any more.

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