All that is in the world...

by Phil Johnson

eople love to blame the world or the devil when they do wrong, but there is never a time when other people—or even Satan himself—can lure us into sin unless our own fleshly depravity yields and cooperates with the world and the devil.

"There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it" (1 Corinthians 10:13).

When Satan is successful in tempting us, it is invariably because we yield. We cannot escape the blame for our sin by claiming it was Satan or the world—rather than our own fleshliness—that drove us to sin. The world, the flesh and the devil all work together to tempt us, but when we sin, it is by definition our own fault.

During one of my trips to India a few years ago I met a college student who approached me after a meeting where I taught. He said he believed he was suffering under an intense Satanic attack, and he wondered if I knew of any special methods of spiritual warfare that could help rid his home and family of Satanic influences.

So I asked about the nature of the attack he was under. He said he was finding it impossible to get along with his mother. He said the two of them hardly ever spoke a civil word to one another, and it was destroying the peace of their household. He said he found it hard to study the Bible or grow spiritually as long as evil tension ruled the home environment. He was hoping I would tell him how he could get Satan out of his household.

I first asked him what made him think this problem was uniquely Satanic. As he described it to me, it sounded much more like raw carnal pride on both his part and his mother's. They were constantly saying unkind and unloving things to one another. He admitted that he purposely did things he knew would annoy her. He spoke disrespectfully to her. He stated quite clearly that he couldn't stand her and didn't like being around her. It sounded like an unbridled case of youthful rebellion on his part, rather than a satanic attack.

So I told him that. I said, "It sounds to me like you're just behaving in a fleshly way. I think you need to look into your own heart for the culprit, rather than blaming the devil and outside influences."

But he insisted that I just didn't understand the issue. It must be Satanic, he said, because the nature of his conflict with his mother was so powerful. And besides, he said, living with her was like living with the devil. And when I raised my eyebrow at that, he quickly added that he couldn't help himself; the temptation to speak hatefully to her and about her was so overpowering, it was as if evil forces had taken over his mind.

I told him first of all, that regardless of Satan's involvement in his home, the root sin causing his problems was fleshly, carnal pride. I also reminded him that when he sinned with his tongue, he was sinning deliberately of his own accord, so he couldn't escape his own responsibility by blaming Satan for the turmoil in his household.

But I told him I agreed that his trouble was probably also demonic. After all, James 3:6 says, "The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell." I also reminded him that according to 1 Samuel 15:23, "Rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry." By indulging in that kind of rebellion, he was committing a sin as evil and as satanic as witchcraft. He was opening his own heart and life to Satan's influence, and he was giving Satan every opportunity to take advantage of him.



And then I told him, "I'm going to let you in on a secret. I'm going to give you a foolproof technique for spiritual warfare that is the most powerful and most potent defense against Satan you could ever employ. If you do what I say, and follow these instructions every time you are tempted to speak an unkind word to your mother, I guarantee this will solve your problem.

So he took out his pen and a piece of paper and prepared to take notes. And when he was looking at me expectantly, ready for the answer, I quoted James 4:7: "Resist the devil, and he will flee from you." And Ephesians 4:26-27: "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath: Neither give place to the devil."

"If Satan doesn't flee," I said—"if he is successful in luring you into sin—it is always because your own wicked heart agrees with him and cooperates with him, and so you do whatever sinful thing he has tempted you to do. When that happens, instead of blaming it on influences beyond your control, you need to repent, and admit your own fleshly complicity with the devil, and resist him rather than cooperating with him."

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour . . . resist [him, and remain] stedfast in the faith" (1 Peter 5:8-9).

I could tell he wasn't pleased with my reply. He desperately wanted me to agree that his problems were caused entirely by the devil, and that therefore the whole problem was completely outside his own heart and beyond his own control. If I had offered to come to his house and conduct some kind of ceremonial exorcism, I'm sure he would have taken me up on it immediately. But he was not prepared to admit that he was in any way culpable for the disharmony in his own home.

We'd all like to believe that our struggle with sin involves only external enemies. We're willing to say that Satan is to blame for our sin. We'd be just as happy to blame the world—or any convenient scapegoat in the world—as long as it's an external cause. As long as we don't have to take the blame on ourselves.

But the ultimate culprit is always our own flesh. We cannot escape blame for our sin by saying, "The devil made me do it," or "the world is to blame."

Even our struggle with the world is a struggle that is fomented by inordinate desires that emanate from within ourselves. "All that is in the world [is] the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life." Have you ever thought about that? That's how Scripture defines "the world," but those are actually sinful tendencies that come from within us. We ourselves are ultimately to blame when inordinate worldly affections crowd out what should be a pure love for God and the things of God. Neither the world nor the devil could ever take advantage of us if our own flesh did not cooperate.

---

Justification by Faith Doesn't Render Holiness Superfluous

Your weekly dose of Spurgeon
posted by Phil Johnson

The PyroManiacs devote some space each weekend to highlights from The Spurgeon Archive. This week's selection is the introduction to "A Call to Holy Living"—a sermon first preached on Sunday morning, 14 January 1872, at the Metropolitan Tabernacle.

T is a very great fault in any ministry if the doctrine of justification by faith alone be not most clearly taught. I will go further, and add, that it is not only a great fault, but a fatal one; for souls will never find their way to heaven by a ministry that is indistinct upon the most fundamental of gospel truths.

The merit by which a soul enters heaven is not its own; it is the merit of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I am quite sure that you will all hold me guiltless of ever having spoken about this great doctrine in any other than unmistakable language; if I have erred, it is not in that direction.

At the same time, it is a dangerous state of things if doctrine is made to drive out precept, and faith is held up as making holiness a superfluity. Sanctification must not be forgotten or overlaid by justification. We must teach plainly that the faith which saves the soul is not a dead faith, but a faith which operates with purifying effect upon our entire nature, and produces in us fruits of righteousness to the praise and glory of God.

It is not by personal holiness that a man shall enter heaven, but yet without holiness shall no man see the Lord. It is not by good works that we are justified, but if a man shall continue to live an ungodly life, his "faith" will not justify him; for it is not the faith of God's elect; since that faith is wrought by the Holy Spirit, and conforms men to the image of Christ.

We must learn to place the legal precepts in their right position. They are not the base of the column, but they are the capital of it. Precepts are not given to us as a way to obtain life, but as the way in which to exhibit life.

The commands of Christ are not upon the legal tenor of "this do and live," but upon the gospel system of "live and do this." We are not to be attentive to the precepts in order to be saved, but because we are saved. Our master motive is to be gratitude to him who has saved us with a great salvation.

I am sure that every renewed heart here will feel no opposition to the most holy precepts of our Lord. However severely pure that law may seem to be which we have read just now from this fifth chapter of Matthew, our hearts agree with it, and we ask that we may be so renewed that our lives may be conformed to it. The regenerate never rebel against any precept, saying, "This, is too pure;" on the contrary, our new-born nature is enamoured of its holiness, and we cry, "Thy word is very pure, therefore thy servant loveth it. O that my ways were directed to keep thy statutes."

Even though we find that when we would do good evil is present with us, yet our inmost soul longs after holiness, and pines to be delivered from every evil way. At any rate, Dear friends, if it be not so with you, you may well question whether you are indeed the children of God. My desire, this morning, is to insist upon the precepts which tend to holiness, and I pray the Holy Spirit to excite desires after a high degree of purity in all believing, hearts.

Games Sinners Play

Too many persons judge themselves by others; and if upon the whole they discover that they are no worse than the mass of mankind, they give themselves a mark of special commendation; they strike a sort of average amongst their neighbors, and if they cannot pretend to be the very best, yet, if they are not the very worst, they are pretty comfortable.

There are certain scribes and Pharisees among their acquaintance, who fast thrice in the week, and pay tithes of all they possess, and they look upon those as very superior persons whom they would not attempt to compete with them; but they thank God that they are far above those horrible publicans, and those dreadful sinners, who are put outside the pale of society, and, therefore, they feel quite easy in their minds, and they go to their place of worship as if they were saints, and bear the name of Christian as if it belonged to them; they share in Christian privileges, and sit with God's people, as if they were truly of the family, their marks and evidences being just these, that they do about as much upon the whole as other people, and if they are not first they are not altogether last.

The nests of such people ought to be grievously disturbed when they read Matthew 5, for there the Master insists upon a higher standard than the world's highest, and tells us that except our righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, we cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven. In our text, the great Master asks of those who are professors of his faith, that they should not only do as much as others to prove their title, but that they should do more than others; and he makes this a test question concerning their being really his followers: "What do ye more than others?" (Matthew 5:47).

You say you want to be a teacher? Oy!

by Dan Phillips

Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness. 2 For we all stumble in many ways. And if anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle his whole body (James 3:1-2)

The apostle issues a rather remarkable command here. He was writing in a day when no one could listen to Phil Johnson on a CD, nor S. Lewis Johnson (no relation) on his I-Pod, nor a book by Gary Johnson; no one could read Calvin's Institutes on his laptop. No one could get a graduate from WestminDallaTriniTalboMaster's on the phone.

There just weren't a lot of qualified teachers.

So you might expect the apostle to say, "Teachers? Need 'em! Gotta have 'em! You think you have the gift? Brother, take the mike!"

On the contrary, James very somberly warns, "You think you want to be a teacher? Oh boy, you'd better sit back down and give that one a second thought. You take that mantle on yourself, brother, and you are begging for stricter judgment."

A teacher in the church of Christ is meant to get up and say, "Here is what the word of God teaches." Did you know that God prizes one quality in a pastor above all others? Indeed He does: it is working hard in the word and teaching (1 Timothy 5:17; do the math). The pastor-teacher is called on, in the most dramatic and heart-in-the-throat tones imaginable, to preach the Word, in fair weather and foul, and no matter what the thronging masses want (2 Timothy 4:1-4).

So he'd better (A) know what he's talking about, and (B) be prepared to stand up for what he says.

He isn't a prophet. He can't say, "Don't blame me; God said that right through me" (although even prophets have always needed to be tested: Deuteronomy 13; 18; 1 John 4:1, etc.)

No, the pastor-teacher studies, he prays, he thinks hard (2 Timothy 2:7; cf. Ezra 7:10), and then he delivers.

In the list of qualifying characteristics that mark a pastor, the only trait that shouldn't equally be pursued by all Christian men is the one we're discussing: ability to teach (1 Timothy 3:2; Titus 1:9). He must be examined as to his abilities in this area before ever he takes the position.

So words are the stock-in-trade of the pastor. When he is at his best, he uses them to communicate God's truth. God holds him accountable for what he says. When he says, "I am a pastor," in that same breath he is saying, "and I invite stricter judgment on myself for what I say."

Anyone who is saved is saved by faith alone in Christ alone. And that saving faith comes by hearing, and hearing comes not by interpretive dance, nor a great guitar solo, nor a pleasant smell, nor lovely decor. Hearing comes by the word of Christ (Romans 10:17). Christ is made known by truthful words — just as surely as He is is denied by deceptive words (cf. 1 John 2:22-23; 4:1-5, etc.). Words matter; they matter a lot.

So a pastor who speaks to a church should expect to answer to that church for what he says. If he goes on the radio, he should expect to answer to that audience for what he says. If he blogs, if he writes in the local newspaper, if he speaks at rallies — and, certainly, if he writes books, he should expect to answer for what he says. He should expect to be held to the standard of God's Word.

No responsible pastor blinks in surprise when someone asks for clarification. He expects it. He invited it the day he presented himself before God and the Church as a pastor. To be a pastor means to be a teacher of the Word of God, and it means to be judged in his pursuit of that activity.

It may seem odd, or even petulant or hostile, to non-pastors — particularly those with little knowledge of church history — when one pastor presses another for clarity on a given issue or issues. And it can be silly if it is an over-intense focus on relatively peripheral issues.

But what an historical perspective grants one is the knowledge that the history of church fairly bristles with men (and women) who have couched deadly, damning error in fine and lovely words. Central, essential doctrines have been and are being denied and perverted by the nicest folks, in the sweetest words. John Calvin discusses this very thing as he recalls Arius' and Sabellius' use of weasel-words, and the resultant need to define the truth precisely, and to put the edges in the right places, so as to flush out false teachers plainly and decisively (Institutes, I, xiii, 5).

It has ever been the case, and it always will be as long as the Lord tarries (1 Timothy 4:1-5; 2 Timothy 3:1-9, 13; 4:1-5; 2 Peter 3:3ff.).

Paul issued this warning to the Ephesian pastors:

Pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock, in which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to care for the church of God, which he obtained with his own blood. 29 I know that after my departure fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock; 30 and from among your own selves will arise men speaking twisted things, to draw away the disciples after them. 31 Therefore be alert, remembering that for three years I did not cease night or day to admonish everyone with tears (Acts 20:28-31)

When a pastor today is earnest in being sure that he understands what another pastor is saying about essential truths, he is doing his job. He is heeding the warnings and exhortations of the apostles. He is obeying God.

It isn't always the funnest part of the job, though. You see, it is our duty to be earnest and serious about these things, and it is our duty to think through implications that others don't have the time, training, or calling to think through. We know that this won't always be transparent to everyone, so it may seem that we're simply being critical for the sake of being critical, or because we think we're better. We aren't, and God knows we don't. In fact, we may groan heavily at the outset, knowing that a crowd of spectators will cry "Foul!" as we pursue the faithful discharge of our God-given duty. It simply is the job of a faithful shepherd to watch out for the sheep, whether our flock says "Thank you" or not (Hebrews 13:7, 17),

And so we pastors are understanding when we ourselves are the subjects of such reasonable examination. It is our desire to be clear, and to be understood. Plus, we understand James 3:1 and its implications, and we know that our brother-pastors are only doing their job when they are reasonably cautious to understand what we're saying.

And it's okay to say "I don't know" or "I'm still working that one through," about a whole host of matters. But then again, there is a host of essentials on which it really isn't okay to say "I don't know," because we really should have worked those out before we stepped into the office.

So when you're spectator to a pastor publicly questioning another pastor about his core beliefs, try to understand: if both are being faithful to God's call in His Word, the first is only doing his job, and the second knows it and appreciates it. In fact, faithful pastors welcome the opportunity to clarify their core beliefs.

Rather than throw brickbats (or frozen meat-chubs) at the reasonable questioner, thank him for taking Acts 20:28 seriously.

And rather than shielding (or beating your breast for) the questionee, encourage him to respond honestly and straightforwardly, and thank him for taking James 3:1 seriously.

After all, it's our #1 job.

---

Happy Birthday

by Phil Johnson



ow that the secret's out and the party's on, I want to wish my dear wife a happy birthday. I won't say how old she is; only that Rebecca's cake has almost twice as much candle as the event requires—and I'm happy to say that Darlene has lived more than half her life with me in marital bliss.

Well . . . it's been bliss for me, anyway.

To Darlene: Happy birthday. I love you.



PS: To Dan Phillips: Your turn to post. We need something with substance. I know you'll come through.

---

A Brief Update on the Kimball conundrum

by Phil Johnson



    haven't forgotten that I promised to revisit the issue of Dan Kimball's movement toward "becom[ing] more of a Nicene Creed doctrinal statement believer." I'm eager to explain my position on that issue. I still think there's a crucial point to be made about the folly of giving up certainty and conviction in the name of reaching a postmodern culture.

Here's the thing: As many readers know, Kimball asked for a private conversation before I post my final comments on the matter. Actually, he asked me to phone him. I said I would.

I did do that, as promised, on Tuesday. He was out of the office. I left my cell phone number for him. He later e-mailed me to say I need to call him again; evidently he left my phone number behind when he went out of town. But he doesn't want me to call him tonight, and tomorrow and Friday are impossible for me. (I'm out of the office this week, too, and our men's conference is this weekend.)

Evidently, this is not going to be easy. We'll talk eventually, I presume. I'm not in any kind of hurry.

Meanwhile, I still have every intention of posting on the issue again, and I promise I won't forget or evade the issue. In fact, if this drags on for many days, it could be a very long post (or maybe two or three), because I've been jotting down my thoughts already, and the list of things I want to say keeps getting longer.

But out of respect for Dan Kimball's wishes, I'm waiting to have that personal conversation with him before I say anything else.

So that's really all I'm going to be able to say about it this week. On to other topics.

---

You should apologize

by Frank Turk

Yesterday Phil said something that made the proximity detectors in my Borg implants fire up, (that's a Star Trek reference people, but the people to whom I am talking here also have just found this post via google because they are afraid that TeamPyro is now quoting Marcus Borg) and it caused me to write this post, so if you want to blame somebody, Phil is ready to accept your wrath. As usual.

In an attempt to reduce the whole world down to a simplistic paradigm by which we can then pass judgment and retain our credibility as mean Calvinists, I want to suggest something for the readers of this blog -- there are only three kinds of Christians: ante-apologetics, inter-apologetics, and post-apologetics.

Let's be honest before we start kicking up dust here: we need the people in the middle group. We need them -- that is, we need the good ones who have a real love for Christ because of who Christ is, and are gifted with wisdom, charity, clarity, and a God-born love for people which makes them affable and (as far as really smart people can be anyway) charismatic. That is, they have to be able to speak the truth in love, and they have to be able to give an account for the hope that lies within us in both gentleness and reverence.

We need them. We live in a post-Christian society, and in that context people object to Christianity from a jaded position of "been there, done that" and experientially reject what they think is the faith delivered once to the saints -- whether that's the faith or not. So those who are good apologists are the ones who can separate the truth from the lies without separating people's heads from their necks.

And seriously: often, I am not one of the "good" apologists. Real reform starts at home, and if I'm going to start heaping hot coals on anybody, it's one for you, two for me. I'm good in a fight, so to speak, but often I am more interested in getting the heads off the zombies in order to stop them from eating any more brains than I am with doing whatever it is you do to cure a zombie and lead him back to the land of the living. It turns out that I'm a D-C type personality for you Marston DISC fans; we tend to be a little bit like a wrecking ball when we think things are important, and it turns out that Jesus and the Gospel are just such a thing.

Now, while I have a few thousand words for the ante-apologetics group, and a few hundred-thousand for the post-apologetics group, I'd like to talk about the people who are here with me in the "inter-apologetics group" for the balance of this post.

People: lighten up. The question is not "is this important work". This is important work for the church and for the sake of the Gospel. But problematically, most of us who are bad apologists are doing these things absent from the context of church. Here's what I mean: many of you don't actually go to church. You believe you're part of the church invisible, and God in His sovereignty has saved you, but somehow you can't actually fellowship with other believers -- ostensibly because all the churches near you are full of half-hearted hypocrites and hair-brained heretics. So you're the last outpost of Christian thought in your neck of the woods (or so you say; apparently you honestly believe it), and that's the biggest reason you need to be an apologist: Jesus is helpless up here.

The problem is that you are simply not accountable to anyone -- and it shows. You treat people like objects and not image-bearers. You treat pastors -- and listen: they are pastors, not you -- like they owe you something, and they don't. You're not an elder in their local church, and it's not primarily because you're not qualified (be honest: you're prolly not) but because you don't go to church anywhere.

So to those of you who think that apologetics is not a team sport but something akin to chess or marathon running, let me tell you that you need to re-examine the Scriptures you hold so dear to see how many people who were defending the church from error there were not part of the actual, visible church and accountable to somebody -- preferably a plurality of elders -- before they started waving the Bible at someone who probably does need a decent teacher or apologist but not one like the teacher portrayed in Pink Floyd's the Wall.

Because let's face it: the goal of apologetics ought to be not just giving an account for the hope which is within us, but it also should include something akin to making myself a servant to all, that I might win more of them, and becoming all things to all people, that by all means I might save some, all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in its blessings. We should be about being a blessing to people, and not just about being the kind of blessing everyone needs but nobody wants to have over for dinner for fear of being berated.

Then there are the bad apologists who do actually belong to churches, but I'll save that for another day. I am sure this post will generate more than enough vigor here at TeamPyro today.

---

The resurrection, apologetically

by Dan Phillips

Preface. On the subject of apologetics, two statements in beginning: (1) I started out (three-plus decades ago) as an evidentialist, moved through Schaeffer to van Til, and now am pretty much a modified van Tilian; and (2) if you don't know what any of that means, it's okay. Really. Please read on.

Apologetics is the reasoned defense of the Christian faith. Evidentialism is the approach to apologetics that focus presents facts, builds a probability case for Christianity, and bids people make a leap (or, to some, "hop") of faith the rest of the way to Christ. Folks like John Warwick Montgomery and Josh McDowell (and a million others) represent this approach.

Cornelius van Til, late professor at Westminster Theological Seminary, constructed a Christian approach to apologetic that... would really hard to describe briefly without someone jumping all over me. I think a fair way is to say that van Til mounted a Biblical attack on the idea that fallen man can autonomously construct a truthful Weltanschauung.

Clear? Oh. Sorry. Let's try that again.

We are creatures, living in a created world. We, our world, and every fact we touch is created, and thus endowed by our Creator with a meaning which He defined by that very created design (cf. Psalm 104:24; Proverbs 3:19; 8:21-31; Romans 11:36). Therefore, there is no such thing as a "brute" fact. Things mean what God says they mean; any other idea is a misapprehension. Constructing other ideas is an act of intellectual rebellion growing out of autonomy, "self-rule" — the demand of being little gods creating our own little universes.

But our problem is sin. Sin isn't just something we do, it is what we are, and that without choice (Romans 6:20). Sin does not merely affect our actions, but our very way of thinking and reasoning (Ephesians 4:17-19). Our problem is not that we have no access to the truth about God. We are surrounded by truths about God, everywhere we turn (Psalm 19:1-6). We have plenty of access. Our problem is that we naturally pervert and distort every truth we meet when we meet it (Romans 1:18ff.), until we are liberated by the sovereign grace of God (2 Corinthians 4:3-6).

What does any of this have to do with the resurrection of Christ?

The resurrection. The resurrection is an essential component of the Gospel, beyond all sane debate.

Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, 2 and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word I preached to you—unless you believed in vain. 3 For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, 4 that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures.... (1 Corinthians 15:1-4)

So, if we prove the resurrection to an unbeliever, he will believe in the Gospel, right?

Not necessarily. For instance, I believed in the resurrection long before I was saved. It made sense, it was well-attested. I had no argument about the brute fact of the resurrection of Jesus. I just didn't believe that it meant what Jesus-freaks wanted to think it meant. It was just a demonstration of that principle of life that the Christ within all of us seeks to express. Jesus did it better, but anyone can do it. (That no one yet had managed to was weird, but it's a weird world.)

I affirmed the event, but not its meaning.

Van Til himself captured this pretty brilliantly in his dialogue between Mr. Black (an unbeliever), Mr. Grey (an evidentialist), and Mr. White (not Famous James, but an archetypal "Calvinist" as described by van Til).

[Mister Grey:] I want to deal with simple facts. I want to show you that the resurrection of Jesus from the dead is as truly a fact as any fact that you can mention. To use the words of Dr. Wilbur Smith, himself a ‘moderate’ Calvinist but opposed to the idea of a distinctively Reformed method for the defense of the faith: ‘The meaning of the resurrection is a theological matter, but the fact of the resurrection is a historical matter; the nature of the resurrection body of Jesus may be a mystery, but the fact that the body disappeared from the tomb is a matter to be decided upon by historical evidence.’ The historical evidence for the resurrection is the kind of evidence that you as a scientist would desire.

Sound familiar? I imagine that would sound pretty good to many good brothers and sisters. But listen to Mr. Black's response:

[Mr. Black:] Now as for accepting the resurrection of Jesus...as thus properly separated from the traditional system of theology, I do not in the least mind doing that. To tell you the truth, I have accepted the resurrection as a fact now for some time. The evidence for it is overwhelming. This is a strange universe. All kinds of ‘miracles’ happen in it. The universe is ‘open.’ So why should there not be some resurrections here and there? The resurrection of Jesus would be a fine item for Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Why not send it in?

Oh, ouch. That didn't go very well, did it?

Perhaps we've had similar dialogues. We think that, if we can make a strong historical case for the resurrection, our friend will be compelled to repent and believe. Yet nothing of the sort happens. Why?

Here's where we need to listen a bit more closely to Paul, I think. Let's ask the apostle to raise his voice a bit for emphasis:

For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, 4 that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures.... (1 Corinthians 15:3-4)

Paul does not adduce the resurrection as a "brute fact," but as an interpreted fact, as a fact freighted with specific assigned meaning. The resurrection means neither nothing nor anything, but something.

Here's where I also think of the words of Solomon:

A wise man scales the city of the mighty
and brings down the stronghold in which they trust (Proverbs 21:22)

We need to take aim at the wrong presuppositions that underlie our friends' thinking, as Paul did in Athens (Acts 17). Often demolition must precede reconstruction (Jeremiah 1:10; 2 Timothy 3:16; 4:2).

Then we bring to bear the evidences—but as God's facts, not brute facts.

(FWIW, I try to do this very thing in Why I Am (Still) a Christian.)

---

Here's Mud in Your Eye

by Phil Johnson

Rather than resurrect last week's controversy first thing Monday morning, how about we start with something a little more positive? It's still resurrection Sunday as I'm writing this post, and I frankly don't feel like writing something I know is going to unleash another flood of controversy. Let's just save that till another day later this week, OK? Instead, here are some thoughts on John 9:6-7, where the apostle John describes how Jesus healed a man who had been blind from birth.

"[Jesus] spat on the ground and made clay with the saliva; and He anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay. And He said to him, 'Go, wash in the pool of Siloam' (which is translated, Sent). So he went and washed, and came back seeing" (John 9:6-7).

ere's a curious means of healing! Jesus spits on the ground. And I'm assuming He spat several times, because if you have ever tried to make clay with your own spit (and I have) it takes a lot of spit to make even a little ball of clay.

Then he takes this mud made from spit and rubs it into the eyes of the blind man.

It's remarkable that the blind guy submitted to such a remedy. If you go to a charismatic optometrist and he proposes something like that as a treatment for your nearsightedness, my advice is to find a cessationist doctor.

Why did Jesus use that method?

Well, for one thing, it makes a good picture of the gospel. It's offensive. It goes against propriety and common sense. It offends our sense of good taste. It is crude. In the judgment of worldly wisdom, it seems foolish. It is a stumbling-block and an offense to our sense of decorum and refinement. It is probably the last method you would expect God to employ.

And yet it was perfectly suitable to Christ's purpose. Underneath the crass and uncouth outward appearance of this act is a tremendous amount of divine wisdom.

Suppose Jesus had used a more refined means of healing the man. Suppose he had reached into his bag and taken out an alabaster vial of glycerin or oil and delicately put drops in the man's eyes, and the man received sight from that.

What would have been the result?

Everyone would have said, "What a wonderful medicine! What is that stuff? Where can I get some?" The focus would have been on the elixir. The cure would have been ascribed to the eye-drops rather than to the power of God.

But the way Jesus healed this man, no one would ever say, "The mud did it!" Or, "It was the spit." Instead, it was clear to everyone that Jesus possessed divine power, and the glory went to Him, where it rightfully belongs.

He deliberately chose means that were commonplace and menial. He purposely did something unconventional. Instead of an elaborate ceremony or a cultured and polished ritual, He chose means that people might think unsanitary, messy—perhaps even indecent.

Again, that perfectly illustrates how God works through the gospel. "God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty; and the base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, that no flesh should glory in His presence" (1 Corinthians 1:27-29).

The atonement itself is regarded by many in this world as an ugly, appalling, embarrassing thing—a blood sacrifice, involving the death of God's own Son on a cross of shame, to pay the price of sin in such a public and inglorious way.

But the wisdom of God is foolishness to this world. "The preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God" (1 Corinthians 1:18).

What's more, the means by which Jesus healed this guy almost seems counterproductive. Who would ever think that putting mud in a man's eyes would help him see? The clay is actually an impediment to the light and an irritant to the eye. This is no way to heal blindness! Besides, clay is inert. It has no healing power or efficacy!

And you know what? That's right. The healing power was not in the dirt. It was not even in the spittle. The efficacy came from the power of Christ.

There may be a couple more reasons Jesus used such an unconventional method. Note: this miracle comes in a context where Christ was proclaiming His deity. What better proof of His deity than a miracle that shows His creative power? Remember how God made Adam in the first place? Genesis 2:7: "The LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." Here it was as if Christ took that same dust of the ground and fashioned new eyes for this man. It was a creative miracle, regenerating those eyes that had never before been able to see! What better proof of Jesus deity?

Perhaps another reason Jesus chose this means was to demonstrate that He was Lord even of the Sabbath. According to verse 14, this miracle occurred on the Sabbath, like so many of the healing miracles of Jesus. In this case, He actually made clay. And that was a deliberate breach of the Pharisaical system. It was tantamount to making bricks on the Sabbath. They saw it as work—and it was. Remember, Jesus Himself said so in verse 4 ("I must work the works of Him who sent Me"). But it was not the kind of work that was forbidden on the Sabbath. In Matthew 12:12, Jesus had reminded them, "It is lawful to do [good] on the sabbath."

But that infuriated the legalistic Pharisees. Even when they knew the miracle itself could not be gainsaid, they turned their hostility against Christ into an accusation of blasphemy. As if the miracle itself were not proof of His deity, in verse 16, some of the Pharisees say, "This Man is not from God, because He does not keep the Sabbath."

There you see the cold hard-heartedness of unbelief.

---

Risen Indeed

Your weekly dose of Spurgeon
posted by Phil Johnson

The PyroManiacs devote space at the beginning of each week to highlights from The Spurgeon Archive. The following excerpt is from "The Private Thoughts and Words of Jesus," a sermon preached at the Metropolitan Tabernacle on Thursday Evening, March 26th, 1891.

h! you may think as much as ever you will of Calvary, and let your tears flow like rivers. You may sit at Gethsemane, and say, "Oh, that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for my Lord!"

But, after all, you must wipe those tears away, for He is not in the grave; he rose again on the third day. O blessed morning! not to be celebrated by an Easter once in the year; but to be commemorated on every first day of the week, more than fifty times in each year. Every seven days that the sun shines upon us brings us a new record of his resurrection. We may sing every Lord's-day morning—

"To-day he rose and left the dead,
And Satan's empire fell:
To-day the saints his triumph spread,
And all his wonders tell."

The first day of the week stands for ever the remembrance of our risen Lord, and on that day he renews his special communings with his people. We believe in him; we rise in him; we triumph in him; and "he ever liveth to make intercession for us."

---

About that Dan Kimball business...

by Phil Johnson

It's Saturday night before Resurrection Sunday. My message for tomorrow is prepared, and I've had a little time to read carefully through today's blog-comments and think through the ongoing exchange in yesterday's meta. Here are some things I'm compelled to say now. I can save the rest till next week. Have a joyous Easter.

et me start this post with a word of personal thanks to Dan Kimball for replying at all to the post I made yesterday. He wasn't obligated to make any reply whatsoever; much less wade chin-deep into the meta here (which must seem a very hostile environment to someone in his position). He posted a cordially-worded comment on the verge of the busiest weekend of the church year. He clearly went beyond the call of duty, and he gets full credit for his patience and boldness.

In that post yesterday, I remarked, "The message that comes across in [Dan's] chapter is that he really doesn't want to be bothered with doctrine."

Clearly, he is more willing to be "bothered" than I surmised from his chapter—and I'm more than happy to concede that fact. I appreciate his reassurance that "doctrine is very, very important." I'm very glad to say plainly that I was wrong and he is right on that score. And I tip my hat to him for his willingness to put as much time and energy as he has into an exchange like this during Easter season.

I also want to acknowledge the point Dan made about my choice of words when I said "his response to Driscoll [in the Listening to the Beliefs... book] consisted of a scolding." Dan's affection for Mark is the theme that dominates that part of the book, and it's not fair of me to characterize it as a "scolding."

In that section of the book, Dan does refer to Driscoll's "abrasive communication style" and demurs in numerous ways from expressing the same "extent of certainty and steadfastness" as Driscoll. But the overall tone of Dan's response to Driscoll is clearly affectionate and not really "scolding." That was a bad choice of words from me. Other participants in that symposium clearly did give Mark Driscoll a scolding or two. But Dan's tone was respectful and friendly throughout. So let's correct the record on that. I'm sorry for my careless choice of words.

On the matter of Dan's hair, I think I can fairly say I have never heard anyone talk about Dan Kimball without making reference to his remarkable hairdo. It's a running joke that did not begin with me. It's arguably Dan's best-known trademark. Some reference to it seems almost obligatory. When I think of what must be involved in maintaining such a 'do, I get a mental picture of Richard Dreyfuss in Close Encounters, oblivious to his wife's chagrin, making models of Devil's Tower out of mashed potatoes and mud.

I actually tried it myself, but it's just not a good look for me.

Anyway, Dan himself didn't seem terribly offended by the picture, but evidently some of our readers were. (I'm just glad it wasn't a comic-book cover, because you know how much those can hurt.) But for Sled Dog and anyone else who interpreted the picture as proof that I was merely being ungracious and not the least bit sincere in the actual questions I raised, I beg your forgiveness for letting a picture mislead anyone as to my mood or my intentions.

I also plead guilty to serially posting tasteless graphics. It's one of my most troublesome besetting sins.

I would like to note for the record that neither I nor anyone who agreed with me employed profanity or abusive name-calling toward Dan Kimball or any of our critics. It's hard to make sense of people who call you obscene names and bend over backward to be insulting—while simultaneously pretending to be indignant about how ungracious someone else has been. But, then, we live in postmodern times, and that is a large part of the point I'm trying to make.

I really am trying to make a rather serious point without being ungracious or obstinate. And if I could beg my critics' indulgence while I try once more to explain why I've continued to press the point with Dan, I'd love an opportunity to explain that matter dispassionately, without the proliferation of name-calling, profanity, and angry attacks in the meta.

But I'm not going to attempt that explanation in this post, lest it detract from the things I've mentioned above that I do want to concede to Dan.

I'll come back in a post on Monday or thereabouts and do my best to explain why I think Dan's original comments failed to answer the questions I raised, and why his later comments seem to contradict what he has written elsewhere.

Meanwhile, let's celebrate the resurrection.

---

It pleased the Lord to bruise Him; He hath put Him to grief

Your weekly dose of Spurgeon
posted by Phil Johnson

The PyroManiacs devote space at the beginning of each week to highlights from The Spurgeon Archive. This week we'll feature two excerpts: one today from "The Death of Christ," a sermon on Isaiah 53:10, preached Sunday morning, 24 January 1858, at the Surrey Gardens Music Hall.

e who reads the Bible with the eye of faith, desiring to discover its hidden secrets, sees something more in the Saviour's death than Roman cruelty, or Jewish malice: he sees the solemn decree of God fulfilled by men, who were the ignorant, but guilty instruments of its accomplishment. He looks beyond the Roman spear and nail, beyond the Jewish taunt and jeer, up to the Sacred Fount, whence all things flow, and traces the crucifixion of Christ to the breast of Deity.

He believes with Peter—"Him, being delivered by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God, ye have taken, and by wicked hands have crucified and slain." We dare not impute to God the sin, but at the same time the fact, with all its marvelous effects in the world's redemption, we must ever trace to the Sacred Fountain of divine love. So doth our prophet. He says, "It pleased Jehovah to bruise him. He overlooks both Pilate and Herod, and traces it to the heavenly Father, the first Person in the Divine Trinity. "It pleased the Lord to bruise him, he hath put him to grief."

What Was the Reason of the Saviour's Suffering?

We are told here, "Thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin." Christ was thus troubled, because his soul was an offering for sin.

Now, I am going to be as plain as I can: Christ was an offering for sin, in the sense of a substitute. God longed to save; but, if such a word may be allowed, Justice tied his hands.

"I must be just," said God; "that is a necessity of my nature. Stern as fate, and fast as immutability, is the truth that I must be just. But then my heart desires to forgive—to pass by man's transgressions and pardon them. How can it be done?"

Wisdom stepped in, and said, "It shall be done thus;" and Love agreed with Wisdom. "Christ Jesus, the Son of God, shall stand in man's place, and he shall be offered upon Mount Calvary instead of man.

Understand, then, the sense in which Christ was made a sacrifice for sin. But here lies the glory of this matter: Man for his sin was condemned to eternal fire; when God took Christ to be the substitute, it is true, he did not send Christ into eternal fire, but he poured upon him grief so desperate, that it was a valid payment for even an eternity of fire. Man was condemned to live forever in hell. God did not send Christ forever into hell; but he put on Christ, punishment that was equivalent for that. Although he did not give Christ to drink the actual hells of believers, yet he gave him a quid pro quo—something that was equivalent thereunto. He took the cup of Christ's agony, and he put in there suffering, misery, and anguish such as only God can imagine or dream of. That was the exact equivalent for all the suffering, all the woe, and all the eternal tortures of every one that shall at last stand in heaven, bought with the blood of Christ.

And you say, "Did Christ drink it all to its dregs?" Did he suffer it all? Yes, my brethren, he took the cup, and

"At one triumphant draught of love,
He drank damnation dry."He suffered all the horror of hell: in one pelting shower of iron wrath it fell upon him, with hail-stones bigger than a talent; and he stood until the black cloud had emptied itself completely.

There was our debt; huge and immense; he paid the utmost farthing of whatever his people owed; and now there is not so much as a doit or a farthing due to the justice of God in the way of punishment from any believer; and though we owe God gratitude, though we owe much to his love, we owe nothing to his justice; for Christ in that hour took all our sins, past, present, and to come, and was punished for them all there and then, that we might never be punished, because he suffered in our stead.

Do you see, then, how it was that God the Father bruised him? Unless he had so done the agonies of Christ could not have been an equivalent for our sufferings; for hell consists in the hiding of God's face from sinners, and if God had not hidden his face from Christ, Christ could not—I see not how he could—have endured any suffering that could have been accepted as an equivalent for the woes and agonies of his people.

Methinks I heard some one say, "Do you mean us to understand this atonement that you have now preached as being a literal fact?" I say, most solemnly, I do. There are in the world many theories of atonement; but I cannot see any atonement in any one, except in this doctrine of substitution.

---

More on the dearth of conviction in the ECM

by Phil Johnson

've suggested recently that postmodernists always run in a straight line back to the notion that we should avoid making truth-claims with finality, clarity, or settled assurance. Everything (and of course I'm speaking in practical terms here, because absolute statements are deemed impolite in these postmodern times)—practically everything is supposed to remain perpetually on the table for debate and reconsideration.

Here's the kind of thing I'm talking about:

In a recent symposium on the Emerging Church movement (Mark Driscoll [et al.] Listening to the Beliefs of the Emerging Churches [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007]) Dan Kimball says the only doctrines he is really sure about these days are a short list of credos generally agreed upon by Christians and spelled out in the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds.

See if you don't think Kimball's perspective contains a classic echo of the kind of thinking I am suggesting colors the typical postmodern mind. He writes:

"When we move beyond what the Nicene Creed discusses, I feel that it is not as easy to be saying so confidently that we have things all figured out. I wonder quite often if, beyond the Nicene Creed, we end up shaping some theology or even choosing what theology we believe because of personality and temperament" (p. 92).

The position Kimball has staked out for himself is frankly hard to understand, because the Nicene Creed, in 325 AD, actually marked the start of several volleys of controversy about the person of Christ. In fact, the worst of the Arian controversy came after Nicea. And it wasn't until the council of Chalcedon, 126 years later, that a creedal statement was written which explained in simple terms the hypostatic union of Christ's two natures. That's what finally helped end a more than 200-year-long parade of heresies about the person of Christ and the doctrine of the Trinity.

So it would actually be much easier to understand Kimball's position if he said he thought the Council of Chalcedon marked the final plank of vital orthodoxy. I would still disagree with him, but his position would make a lot more sense.

But he is definite about setting the boundaries of his certainty at Nicea. And the point Dan Kimball is making about this is not just an obscure, offhanded remark that I dug out of his chapter in order to have an easy target for criticism. It is virtually the main point of his chapter. It's also the one point he makes in his rebuttal to Mark Driscoll's chapter.

In short, Kimball gives the distinct impression that he thinks any doctrine not settled by the time of the first ecumenical council is not really worth fighting over.

Everything beyond that, he suggests, is negotiable—or at least he dismisses all differences on such matters as consequences of a person's genetic predisposition, personality quirks, or whatever.

Consider the implications of that: If that's really Dan Kimball's position, then he has in effect repudiated the Protestant Reformation, not to mention Augustine's refutation of Pelagius and the Council of Carthage's condemnation of Pelagianism (which occurred nearly a hundred years after the Nicene Council).

I have my doubts about whether Dan Kimball would really want to defend that position if backed into a corner. Perhaps he would, but it's a position that is certainly fraught with significant difficulties, whether you embrace Eastern Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, or anything more orthodox than the Christology of the Jehovah's Witnesses.

If you happen to read the book, let me know if Kimball's chapter strikes you the same way it struck me. Not only does it seem like Kimball has not really thought his position through very carefully; I got the distinct impression he wouldn't really care to give it much more serious thought. Frankly, the message that comes across in that chapter is that he really doesn't want to be bothered with doctrine. Like a lot of postmodern church members, he doesn't seem to have the stomach for propositional theology. I have a hard time interpreting what he says in any other sense.

Here's why I object so strongly to that: Without a commitment to sound doctrine and a strong sense of what is truth and what is error, you simply have no way to fend off heresy. Once you embrace postmodern qualms about the perspicuity, truthfulness, and authority of Scripture, you have already rendered any vigorous, biblical defense of the faith impossible.

Even the most conservative voices in the Emerging Church movement face this problem to some degree, because although they might not be self-consciously postmodern in their own thinking, they are too concerned with keeping "the conversation" going. Once someone abandons his or her doctrinal convictions to the degree Kimball advocates and embraces "the conversation" as a primary goal instead, the commandment in Jude 3 ("Contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all delivered to the saints") becomes next to impossible to obey with a whole heart.

---

The astonishing Jesus

by Dan Phillips

This is a brief thought for this "Maundy Thursday." It comes from Mark 14.

You know the setting. In fact, you know it better than the disciples did! Judas had gone to the priests, to turn Jesus in for his blood money. Jesus was being betrayed, and His climactic sufferings were about to begin.

Rather than running away, Jesus runs to His Father, and prays in light of the coming events. He selects His three closest disciples, Peter, James and John. He takes them apart to pray, and then withdraws "a stone's throw" from them (Luke 22:41).

Their opportunity becomes yet another failure, as they fall asleep. They all sleep, but Jesus singles out His #1 man, Peter — who had just boasted that he would never forsake Jesus (v. 29).

"Simon," He says (v. 37). (Not much of a rock now.) "Simon, are you asleep? Could you not watch one hour?" They are all asleep, but the verbs are singular, addressing Simon alone.

Simon Peter had boasted of his strength; yet Jesus says more literally "Were you not strong enough [οὐκ ἴσχυσας, ouk ischusas] to keep watch for one hour?"

And then what does He say? "Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak" (v. 38).

The numbers are all plural now. "You lot watch, and you lot pray, that you may not enter..." Peter's weakness is all of their weakness, as it is all of our weakness. It is the weakness of the flesh.

But my focus is the phenomenon of Jesus' specific counsel. He tells them to pray. What would you tell them to pray? I started to write what I'd tell them to pray, but in all likeliness I'd not be there to tell them, if I had any idea what was coming. I'd be on a fast flight to Elsewhereville. Because my flesh is weak, too. I may be renewed, I may be reborn; but my flesh is still weak.

But if for some unfathomable reason I were still there, I'd be asking them to pray for me, in light of the Hell that I was about to endure. I might reproach their selfishness, their lovelessness. They're sleeping, when they should be thinking about me!

Whatever I might have done, Christ didn't do. He told them to pray — for themselves! "Pray that you may not enter into temptation."

What He was going to do, He was going to do alone. He was going to tread the winepress alone. He was going to be more alone than He had ever been. He was going to do the great work singlehanded.

And they needed to pray for themselves.

Pause and marvel.

Here is the worst situation any human being has ever been in, ever, in the nightmare history of our race. "Worse" in every sense of the word: more unjust, more criminal, more insane, more fraught with horror and desolation — yet He tells them to pray, not for Him, but for themselves.

And what are they going to go through, compared to what He is about to endure? Nothing. Nothing. A walk in the park with a little breeze tousling their hair. Nothing!

And yet He does not ask them to pray for Him. Simply amazing. They were not strong enough. We are not strong enough.

He was strong enough.

What an astonishing Man. What an astonishing Savior.

---

from the mind of TeamPyro

by Frank Turk



Available in human sizes, too.

---

Let me put it this way:

Summarizing my criticism of the Emerging Church Movement
by Phil Johnson

noted on Monday that I've had a lot of negative things to say over the past two years about the so-called "Emerging conversation."

As someone quipped, less might be more. One person asked me to simplify all of those prior posts into one, more manageable, statement. My friend asked, "If you could boil your criticism of the Emerging Church movement down to one major complaint, what would that be?"

Short answer: Virtually every distinctive strategy I have seen advocated in the Emerging Conversation so far strikes me as utterly wrong-headed; rooted in a lack of confidence in the power and authority of Scripture; borrowed from the modernist play-book; already discredited by experience; and contrary to what Scripture teaches.

I realize that sounds too negative, so let me put it another way:

I think the Emerging movement has shown an uncanny knack for embracing the very aspects of postmodern thought and style that most need to be confronted with the truth of the gospel.

On the positive side, let me say that I appreciate the fact that many Christians these days are grappling with the question of how the church should respond to postmodernism. I do think that's a serious and vitally important question that we all need to face. It's a question many old-style evangelicals are completely unprepared to answer—but every person I have ever met who is involved in the Emerging Church movement is eager and ready to discuss. Let's give them credit for that.

Indeed, this is the key distinctive of the emerging church: it is fundamentally a self-conscious attempt to adapt the church and frame the gospel message in a way that meets the unique challenges postmodernism presents.

Understand: I'm not suggesting that is an unworthy goal. I have many criticisms of the Emerging Church movement, but the fact that they want to reach postmodern people for Christ is not one of my criticisms. It's vital that the church should wake up and understand how our world is changing, and at the very least, the Emerging Church movement is sounding a wake-up call.

Furthermore, as I have said many times, if we listen to the Emerging Church Movement's critique of mainstream evangelicalism, we must acknowledge that they are right on target in many ways. I agree wholeheartedly with much of what the literature of the Emerging Church movement says about the failure of mainstream evangelicalism. Many who are joining the Emerging movement have bailed out of the evangelical movement because they are rightly fed up with American-style late-20th-century evangelicalism.

I'm thinking here especially of the so-called "neo-evangelicalism" that rode the wave of Billy Graham's popularity and reached its peak in a handful of massive, worldly megachurches where serious teaching was deliberately ousted and replaced by entertainment. That kind of "evangelicalism" has utterly failed as a movement and will probably die out completely in a generation or so if serious and significant changes are not made.

And on one thing in particular, the Emergents are right: that movement needs to die. Good riddance to it.

But I could hardly disagree more strongly with the kind of remedies that have been proposed by the chief engineers of the Emerging Church movement. In fact, I think the big-picture strategy they have adopted actually works against the idea of reaching postmodern people for Christ.

More important, I think the strategy most Emerging-style churches have embraced simply recycles all the errors of modernism that ultimately got us into this mess in the first place.

Emerging Post-evangelicals are bankrupt and sitting on Mediterranean Avenue without having passed go and without collecting $200. They act as if they are making a fresh start. Actually, they are about to embark on one final, unhappy trip around the board with no chance of making it even halfway. I predict they won't even get past Oriental Avenue.

---

Question for discussion: Christ came to destroy the works of the devil, sooo....

by Dan Phillips

Let me say right up-front that this will be like no other post I've put up here at the fire-ring.

This post is, I admit up-front, about an issue that is a problem to me, and stumps me. I have "answers," if you know what I mean. I have thoughts. I have lots of bits and fragments. But I don't even come close to feeling as if I have The Answer, or even a very good answer. And what I do have is (to say the least) not very satisfactory to me.

So I'm really posing a question, not an answer. And then I'll open the discussion-thread to you, so you can all school me about it.

We have a lot awfully smart readers, for which I'm grateful. Many feel they are smarter than I, and a sizable subset of that number is correct. More than once, I've felt that the comment-thread on one of my posts presented some material better than the post itself. This certainly will be an example of that species. Of course, we have our share of chuckleheads, bozo's, trolls, snipers, and rabble; but they are outnumbered by some awfully bright and shining lights. So I offer this to you.

I really hope it engenders a lively and "real" discussion. I mean what I say: some really great brothers and sisters read this blog, and I want to hear your thoughts. My fear, however, is that many will just back away from it, and the post will be longer than the comment-thread.

THE PREMISE. Here is my Dan-plified Version of what the apostle John says in 1 John 3:8b—"for this purpose, to this end, was the Son of God made visible: that He might dismantle, undo, take down, destroy [ἵνα λύσῃ] the works of the Devil."

So here we have a declaration of the purpose of the Incarnation: to dismantle Satan's works. As I see the whole drama of redemption, this will eventually take in every sphere: the cosmic, the political, the social, the spiritual, the personal. Presently, at bare minimum, this includes the personal level. As each of the elect is converted, Christ sets about the dismantling of the works of the Devil. There are only two categories of men: those in whom Christ has begun this process, and those in whom He has not. Genuine Christians comprise the entire first set. The second set is made up of false professors, and everyone else.

As people who embrace the Biblical doctrine of God, we Calvinists (—with all due apologies to those who think they own the brand-name) believe that God succeeds in every endeavor to which He sets Himself. There is nothing that He purposes to do that He cannot do. No person's will or spirit is stronger than His. Since He can direct the thoughts and decisions of the most powerful (Proverbs 21:1; cf. Deuteronomy 2:30; Ezra 1:1; etc.), He can do so in every case without exception (Acts 16:14; 1 Thessalonians 3:12; 2 Thessalonians 3:5). No one can stay God's hand in what He sets out to accomplish (Daniel 4:35).

So we know what God's will is for every Christian, without exception. His will is to dismantle the works of the Devil in every believer's heart, mind, soul. And we know that He is absolutely able to do that. It is His will, and it is within His power.

THE QUESTION: so, why doesn't He seem to do so?

THE EXPANSION, AND THE TERMS: why are there so many genuine Christians who persist in the same patterns of sin, apparently without pangs of conscience, without struggle, without the movings of repentance, cheerfully and blithely and hard-heartedly?

As (I hope) you expect of me, I have chosen my wording carefully. Remember, this is my discussion, so I'm framing it. For the purposes of this discussion, I stipulate:

• These are genuine Christians. So please don't hang your response on, "There's no one like this. Once they've been shown that their sin is sin, they have 37 days to admit to feeling guilty and starting to struggle with mortifying that sin. On the 38th day, if repentance has not begun, they're just not Christians. So there. Next question?"
• We are talking about patterns of sin, not merely differences of opinion or unwise behaviors or gray areas.
• They do not regard their sins as sins, in spite of having been shown from the Word, or otherwise knowing from the Word, that these are in fact sins. They've read the passages, they've heard sermons, they've been spoken to personally. Perhaps they winced at the time, but it passed. The Word has made no apparent impact in this area, though it (necessarily) has in other areas of their lives.
• My using "apparent" twice is necessary, since no man knows another's heart (1 Corinthians 2:11). If you feel you must say, "We don't see it, but deep down inside, they're miserable and guilty and struggling with all their might," go ahead. Appeal to Psalm 32:3-4, if you must. But for the purposes of this discussion, please don't make your response depend on that answer.
• I am uninterested in the responses of Arminians and gutless-gracers. Sorry, but might as well be up-front about it. So if your response is, "God can't violate their free will," give it on your blog. Not here. Every Christian is living proof that God can transform the most rebellious will. And again, just to be candid, I find the gutless-grace position embarrassing, and have no respect for it, at all, whatever. Talk about it on your blog if you like, and your readers will rejoice with you. Don't clog up this discussion. Respect the rule, or embrace summary deletion. Clear?

Let me return to just one of these, the "They ain't no such animal" response. I'm sure this will be the first thought for at least some of you. I won't bar you from the discussion, but please consider this first, seriously: are you really going to say that you have never known anyone whose Christian testimony is convincing to you, who has shown humbling and growth and repentance in many areas, but just has one or two large, gaping areas where this is this astonishing blindness and apparent lack of all spiritual sensation? In spite of exposure after exposure to the truth of Scripture? In spite of seeing from a dozen angles the folly and shame and ruin it leads to? Never?

Let me move the wall out a bit, and give a specific area, though it isn't primarily what I have in mind. Here at Pyro, we and our commenters often are very critical of Christian preaching and practice that we believe is seriously in error, and even sinful. With one voice, we all lament the state of the church today, and of evangelicals in particular.

But none of us suggests that, in every case, the people we criticize are all unsaved. I hope you don't believe they are. I for one certainly do not.

So, if you believe that at least some of these seeker-sensitive churches, these nuttily Charismatic churches, these Bible-lite churches, these Arminian churches, these man-centered churches, are led by people who are genuinely Christian, yet are genuinely displeasing to God (as we argue), then why does the Lord let that go on? Why does He not grant repentance to them (2 Timothy 2:25)? Surely He cares more about His church than we do.

It is in God's interests to undo the doctrinal, behavioral, attitudinal sins I have in mind. It would be to His glory. It would be for His people's good. It is within His power. It is in accord with His stated design.

So why doesn't He?

I'll thrill my Presbyterranean friends by citing the Westminster Confession, 5.5.

The most wise, righteous, and gracious God doth oftentimes leave, for a season, His own children to manifold temptations, and the corruption of their own hearts, to chastise them for their former sins, or to discover unto them the hidden strength of corruption and deceitfulness of their hearts, that they may be humbled; and, to raise them to a more close and constant dependence for their support upon Himself, and to make them more watchful against all future occasions of sin, and for sundry other just and holy ends.

And for my fellow baptists, here's the similar (yet slightly different) wording of the The Baptist Confession of Faith (1689), article 5.5.

The most wise, righteous, and gracious God often leaves, for a time, His own children to various temptations, and to the corruptions of their own hearts, in order to chastise them for the sins which they have committed, or to show them the hidden strength of corruption and deceitfulness still in their hearts, so that they may be humbled and aroused to a more close and constant dependence upon Himself for their support, and that they may be made more watchful against future occasions of sin. Other just and holy objectives are also served by such action by God.

Therefore whatever happens to any of His select is by His appointment, for His glory, and for their good.

Is that it, then? Does that explain everything — He's just leaving vast scores of Christians in their sins to chastise, humble and instruct them? If so, then (A) boy oh boy, there must be a whole lot of chastising, humbling and instructing going on!; and (B) why don't we actually see more chastised, humbled, and instructed saints? Instead we seem to see rutted, stubborn, impenitent, hardened, deluded, defecting saints.

Unless we're prepared to go the "us four, no more" route. Which I'm not.

One last twist: could you throw yourself in there? I could. The problem isn't really just Them, is it? Would that it were. Why does not my holiness grow and deepen more apace? Whatever "those people" pray, I know that I pray (and you pray) for growth in holiness. Why is it so slow? Why are sins so stubborn, and graces so seemingly ephemeral? Sins die so hard, graces grow so agonizingly slowly.

This dilemma has been sensed by Christians all through our history. It has been the genesis of much false teaching: deeper life teaching, gutless-grace teaching, "second grace" teaching, and on and on.

What's our better answer? Or do I really have the answer, and I just don't like it?

Okay. There's the assignment, all you Bible brainiacs. Got my notepad ready. All ears.

Easy stuff, right?

Discuss.

---