What I think about "the Florida revival"

by Dan Phillips

Several good sibs-in-Christ have asked what I/we think about the Florida (or Lakeland) Revival. I'll not speak for my bros-in-blog. But here's what I think about it.

Oh, first, just one disclosure before I begin: I don't know anything about it specifically. Not one thing. Haven't read an article, haven't listened to an anecdote, haven't heard a podcast or sermon or phone-in commenter. I think a friend said something in an email... but I've forgotten it.

All I know is that there is supposed to be one, it's the latest buzz, and people as far away as England are wondering about it.

Otherwise, don't know a thing. So now let's....

Yes? You wanted to say something?

"W... wait, wait just a minute. Wait. You're telling us you don't know anything about it? But you're going to tell us what you think about it? Without knowing anything?"

Yes, that's absolutely right. Odd, eh? I am, in fact, making a point not even of reading my usual blogs that might comment on it. I'm going to offer these thoughts with almost tabula rasa ignorance about the specifics of this latest claim to revival.

Oh, I suppose I'll have to look at it eventually — after I write this. Just like I'm going to have to force myself to labor through the so-called "Evangelical Manifesto." But not yet. So now....

Yes? Something else?

"But don't you know the names you'll be called for doing it like this? What The Usual Suspects — who only turn up when you guys write about Da Gifts — will say?"

Yeah well duh, of course I do. But I have a very specific, deliberate purpose in doing it like this. My challenge to you: tell me what that purpose is.

So now, HSAT, here is what I think about "The Lakeland Revival," going in:

1. Believing in the sovereignty of God and having read (and believed!) Acts 2, I know that it is at best extraordinarily unlikely that it will manifest any revelatory or attesting gifts that have not been in regular evidence among Bible-believing Christians over the last 2000 years (1 Corinthians 12:11) — which is to say, not any. For that reason...
2. I know that any claims to revelatory or attesting gifts will likely fall short of Biblical standards. This really, really matters to God (Deuteronomy 13:1-11; 18:20-22), so it should really, really matter to me. Specifically:
3. I know that if the majority of unbelievers aren't, without any massaging or special sauce from the "revival's" advocates, goggling in slack-jawed and clueless astonishment at undeniably supernatural events, and desperately scrambling for explanations, any claimed miracles are nothing like real miracles (cf. John 11:47-48; Acts 3:9-10; 4:16).
4. I know that if it doesn't center on and exalt the person and work of Jesus Christ, it's not Holy Spirit-breathed revival (John 16:14; Colossians 1:18).
5. I know that if it wasn't produced by the preaching of the Word of God, it's not Holy Spirit-breathed revival (Nehemiah 9).
6. I know that if it doesn't produce greater conformity to the written word of God, it's not Holy Spirit-breathed revival (Psalm 138:2; Matthew 28:18-20; John 8:31-32; 2 Peter 1:19-21)
7. I know that if it doesn't produce holy living, which includes adorning behavior and specifically self-control, it isn't Holy Spirit-breathed revival (Galatians 5:22-23).
8. I know that if the leaders of it aren't men well-known for embodying/pursuing the pastoral traits of 1 Timothy 3:1-7 and Titus 1:6-9, and specifically for being in subjection to, and for soundly teaching, the whole Word of God, it's unlikely to be a Holy Spirit-breathed revival.

And now that — yes?

"Sounds like your mind is closed."

Well, yes. My mind is closed, to the best of my ability — to anything but a Scriptural perspective (Ephesians 4:13-14).

Is there something wrong with that?

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Deja Vu All Over Again

by Phil Johnson

xactly a year ago, I was in precisely the same position I am in right now: burdened with deadlines and commitments, unsure of how I would ever get everything done, and generally over-stressed. One of several Swords of Damocles hanging over my head last year was an overdue chapter I had agreed to contribute to a book on evangelical postmodernism edited by Ron Gleason and Gary Johnson. I had worked on that chapter almost every spare minute during my teaching time in Italy but had not finished it, so it was the first thing I had to do after returning to the States. Almost a year ago to the day, I posted an excerpt from one of my footnotes to save having to write a blogpost.

Anyway, that book is titled Reforming or Conforming?: Post-Conservative Evangelicals and the Emerging Church (with a Foreword by David F. Wells). For some reason (which I hope was unrelated to my chapter), the book's release was delayed for nearly a year, and it is now slated for this coming September. I received a .pdf copy of the entire book while in Italy this year (just last week), so I'm now reading the full book for the first time. The chapters I have read so far are amazingly good and insightful. Since I contributed a chapter, I won't attempt an objective review of the whole book, but watch for it. It will definitely be worth your time.

Meanwhile, I'm going to do the same thing I did last year in order to avoid having to write a real blogpost today. I'm going to quote another excerpt from my chapter (which, incidentally, is titled "Joy-Riding on the Downgrade at Breakneck Speed: The Dark Side of Diversity"):

Postmodernism has at its heart a nagging suspicion that at the end of the day, no one can really know with complete certainty or settled assurance what is true and what is not. It might not be too far-fetched to say that is virtually the distilled essence of the whole postmodern idea. Postmodernists modestly refer to their own invincible lack of certainty as "epistemic humility." To anyone who has something to be certain about, the postmodernist's refusal to be definitive looks, sounds, and acts like old-fashioned cynicism. From the postmodernists' own perspective, however, that kind of skepticism is the new meekness—while the very epitome of ugly arrogance is any notion that we actually do know something with conclusive and categorical certainty. Dogmatism of any kind is equal to the most diabolical kind of cruelty; anyone with strong moral convictions is deemed particularly judgmental; and even quiet faith has a kind of uppity feel to it. Thus the "humility" of perpetual ambivalence has become postmodernism's one supreme and cardinal virtue. . . . The Emerging Church movement 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. There's nothing wrong with trying our best to communicate more effectively with postmodern people, of course. In fact, it is right for Christians to grapple with the question of how the church should respond to postmodernism. That's a serious and vitally important issue that too many old-style evangelicals are blissfully oblivious to (and too many evangelicals who are aware of the problem seem unwilling to face it seriously). The ECM deserves credit for recognizing the megashift and sounding a wake-up call. The evangelical movement desperately needs to be stirred from its own apathy and oblivion. Unfortunately, the Emerging movement has an extraordinary knack for adapting to and embracing the very aspects of postmodern culture that most need to be confronted with the truth of the gospel. In the process of contextualizing the Christian message for a postmodern culture, the ECM has rather uncritically assimilated a postmodern value-system. Postmodern "virtues"—such as uncertainty, ambiguity, mystery, latitudinarianism (masquerading as "tolerance"), and above all, diversity—have somehow made it to the head of the ECM's hierarchy of moral values. These inevitably crowd out and eliminate more biblical values, such as assurance, boldness, conviction, understanding of the truth, and the defense of sound doctrine.

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On the Evils of Undue Tolerance

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 "Good Cause for Great Zeal," a sermon preached at the Metropolitan Tabernacle, first published in 1873.

ourtesies are thrown away upon antagonists whose cause is treason. Nor are we the men who should practice reserve; for if we are maintained from the king's palace, we are cravens if we do not stand up for our king.

There have been attacks made in modern times upon the doctrine of substitution. If the doctrine of substitution be not true, I am a lost man; therefore, tooth and nail, will I fight for it. No other hope beneath the skies have I, except in the expiatory substitution of the Lord Jesus Christ. If he did not suffer in my stead, the just for the unjust, then flames of hell must be my portion. Therefore I can never give up that truth, for it is giving up my own salvation. But it has been revealed, and I cling to it with the most implicit credit.

Do you tell me that "modern thought" assails it?

How, and with what weapons, I ask? Is it with argument, with proof, or with any counter-suggestion? Oh, no, it is merely met with vague questionings, idle quibbles, and impertinent sneers—a style of answer that affects much, though it affirms nothing.

I pray you, brethren, wherever you are, defend this fundamental doctrine of our most holy faith—that the Lord Jesus Christ has laid down his life to make atonement for the sins of his people. Or should we be confronted with any other form of false doctrine, or should we be haunted with any kind of scepticism—(scepticism! an anomalous thing, which is without form and void)—are we to stand with mealy mouths, and say, "Yes, brethren, you are of that opinion, and I am of the other." Nay, but opinion is light as a bubble, when judgment is pronounced by the supreme court from which there is no appeal.

What, think ye? Is there no fact? Is there no truth? Is the word of God "yea" and "nay"? Has it come to this, that it is to be shuffled like a pack of cards, or shaped like a nose of wax, as every man may please? Oh, no! By the ever-living God there is truth somewhere, and that truth we will find out if we can; and, having found it, we will hold it fast.

Let us, in the day of battle, use our standard; and if our arm be smitten off, we hope the standard will not fall, but that others will be found to hold it up as there were in the brave days of yore—when our fathers burned at the stake for these things, or went to the galleys, or perished amidst the Alps, sooner than the truth of God's own word should be without witnesses among the sons of man!

Hear none of these things in your hearts with tolerance; but hold fast to the things which ye have been taught, and hold them fast in faith and love to Christ Jesus.

Thanks to Pyro-reader Janine for the Spurgeon vs. McLaren graphic.

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Transparency: ...the bad and the downright ugly (Part 3 of 3)

by Dan Phillips

The purpose of godly transparency. In the previous post I quoted Spurgeon as saying, "I am the subject of depressions of spirit so fearful that I hope none of you ever get to such extremes of wretchedness as I go to." This quotation is justly well-known and oft-quoted (though seldom-sourced).

However, I'm not sure I've ever seen the thought reproduced in full:

I am the subject of depressions of spirit so fearful that I hope none of you ever get to such extremes of wretchedness as I go to, but I always get back again by this-I know I trust Christ. I have no reliance but in him, and if he falls I shall fall with him, but if he does not, I shall not. Because he lives, I shall live also, and I spring to my legs again and fight with my depressions of spirit and my down castings, and get the victory through it; and so may you do, and so you must, for there is no other way of escaping from it. In your most depressed seasons you are to get joy and peace through believing.

Spurgeon's purpose in alluding to his depressions was not to talk about himself. He wasn't out to make himself feel better about himself. These were not exercises in venting, nor personal therapy. Rather, the pastor was offering a point of contact to his hearers, by which to turn both himself and them to Christ. You might diagram it something like this:

• Are you subject to depression?
• I too am subject to depression — fearful depression!
• Even in such depression, I find I can and must turn to the sufficient Christ for life and joy
  
• ...and so can you, and so must you!

The Christian does not give himself leave from the two great commandments: the imperative of love for God, and for man (Matthew 22:36-40). "Honesty," "candor," "authenticity," or "transparency" — none of these is an abbreviation for "God gave me a pass from the two chief moral imperatives of the universe."

Example #1: Take as a positive example David, as he was wrestling with doubt and fear. He said, "I will guard my ways, that I may not sin with my tongue; I will guard my mouth with a muzzle, so long as the wicked are in my presence" (Psalm 39:1). So he was "mute and silent," and held his peace even as his distress worsened (vv. 2ff.). David did not want to give a tool to the "wicked," with which they could further mock God and damn their own souls, and further waylay those they influenced. God forbid that he give occasion to the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme.

Example #2: Asaph sets another example. He found himself twisted in a knot by the age-old problem of the prosperity of the wicked (Psalm 73). He was undergoing daily discipline, and living a Godward life (vv. 13-14) — but the godless were living the high life. Asaph was positively envious of them (v. 2).

Now, at that time and in the grips of this worldly envy, Asaph could have been "transparent." He could have brought his great eloquence to play in regaling his hearers with his frustrations, his desires, his disappointments. He could have painted a comic picture of his pious friends who were still walking the walk. He could have salved his conscience by mocking them, and gathering around himself a group of similarly disaffected wits. He could have been their hero.

But how did Asaph see it?

If I had said, "I will speak thus,"
I would have betrayed the generation of your children
(Psalm 73:15)

"Betrayed." Not "served."

It wasn't that Asaph was dishonest; he simply was still a worshiper of Yahweh. Even in the grips of such emotional turmoil, he saw this sort of "transparency" for what it was: an act of betrayal, an act of treachery against Yahweh and His children. So far from being noble and fine, Asaph knew it would be low and faithless. Self-serving, other-destroying.

The risks of "transparency." This is my cautionary note. To too many, "transparency" is all about them. It is an act of therapy, neither of worship nor service. It is self-indulgence.

By the way, God knows I'm not speaking cuttingly of them as if I'm untemptable. I once ran a post past my dear wife and, God love her, she told me frankly that it tended to that direction. I killed it; you never saw it.

The sorts I have in mind do not so much confess their weaknesses as revel in them, celebrate them, rationalize them. They aren't struggling to overcome the passions of the flesh; they're struggling to overcome the guilt (and stigma) of embracing those passions. It isn't about pointing fellow-strugglers to the Christ of Scripture; it's about making themselves feel better about their own defection from Him.

And so, like Absalom, they gather about themselves disgruntled men and women who start as admirers and stay as enablers. Questions become doubts, doubts become mockery, mockery becomes open rebellion. Helping neither the "sharer" nor themselves, they perpetuate a cycle of straying. Their disclosures are no giving, serving acts of love. No, they are whining, boasting, grasping excesses of sheer self-gratification.

In the quest for self-help, nobody gets help.

So pastors (to return to that) will do well to test ourselves. Our disclosures — what are they about? What is the subtext? Are they about making us look ____ — real, humble, authentic, tough, earthy, worldly? Pathetic, pitiable, needy?

The sorts of openness we celebrated in the first two posts were clear in both their intent and effect. The design in those cases is to share the consolation received by God with those who need it (cf. 2 Corinthians 1:4-7). It is about dealing gently with those similarly afflicted (cf. Hebrews 5:2). It is about tenderly urging the faint to draw new strength and get back on the path (Hebrews 12:12-13), to be strong in the grace of the Lord (2 Timothy 2:1), to draw near to the Lord for needed help and mercy (Hebrews 4:14-16).

And so, as so often, we're left in a tension twixt two extremes:

• The man so arrogant that he can never admit to human weakness, no matter who that admission might serve
  
• The man so self-absorbed that he publicly revels in his failings, and may the consequences to the honor of God and the good of his neighbor be damned

The best kind of transparency is the sort through which people can look and see — not ourselves, but — the Lord.

And so we end where we began: at 2 Corinthians 4:5.

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Previous posts:

Transparency: the good... (part 1 of 3)
Transparency: ...and more good... (part 2 of 3)

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Transparency: ...and more good... (part 2 of 3)

by Dan Phillips

In the Transparency: the good... (part 1 of 3) we saw that God entrusted the proclamation of Jesus Christ as Lord to actual human beings and not to steel automata. He did this for a reason. The Biblical writers were equally candid about their wayward weaknesses and their Godward zeal.

Though we focused on Paul, we could easily do a lengthy series on the humanity of Moses, of Elijah, of Elisha; of Mark, of Peter, of Timothy. But I trust the premise is sufficiently laid to do a little building.

Such candor did not cease with "tongues." We see it in Augustine's Confessions among the earlier church fathers; we see it in spades in Martin Luther, who not only boldly expressed his faith, but openly admitted his fears and weaknesses.

In fact, in his very readable (but maddeningly under-documented) book Walking with the Giants (Baker: 1976), Warren Wiersbe devotes a chapter to the topic "The Minister and Discouragement." Some of the big names who were familiar with dark times as well as bright included Alexander White, John Henry Jowett, Andrew Bonar, and G. Campbell Morgan.

The great Charles Spurgeon was particularly open about his own weakness. "I am the subject of depressions of spirit so fearful that I hope none of you ever get to such extremes of wretchedness as I go to," he said in a sermon titled "Joy and Peace in Believing" (1866). He meant it, too. This isn't hyperbole. An entire chapter of his Lectures to My Students is whimsically titled "The Minister's Fainting Fits." It is devoted to the reality of discouragement and depression in pastoral ministry. Towards the start, Spurgeon explains his purpose in being so open:

Knowing by most painful experience what deep depression of spirit means, being visited therewith at seasons by no means few or far between, I thought it might be consolatory to some of my brethren if I gave my thoughts thereon, that younger men might not fancy that some strange thing had happened to them when they became for a season possessed by melancholy; and that sadder men might know that one upon whom the sun has shone right joyously did not always walk in the light

Spurgeon knew that his students would look up to him, and be tempted to think more highly of him than they ought. Rather than accepting that (in service of his pride), Spurgeon exposed his inclination to melancholy (in the service of their lasting good).

Elsewhere Spurgeon suggests a reason why servants such as he are subjected to such times of darkness. In the chapter "How to Meet the Evils of the Age" from An All-round Ministry, Spurgeon asks —

Is not this the reason why God’s servants are made to pass through so many trials, that they may really learn many truths not otherwise to be apprehended? Do we learn much in sunny weather? Do we not profit most in stormy times? Have you not found it so — that your sick-bed — your bereavement — your depression of spirit, has instructed you in many matters which tranquillity and delight have never whispered to you? I suppose we ought: to learn as much by joy as by sorrow, and I hope that many of my Lord’s better servants do so; but, alas! others of us do not; affliction has to be called in to whip the lesson into us.

Such seasons are no less essential pastoral training than Hebrew or Greek. Like the high priest, the pastor should be able to "deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is beset with weakness" (Hebrews 5:2). And so, having received his "whippings," Spurgeon is eager to turn them to his people's profit. His motivation was also Paul's, who observed that...

...the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 ...comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 5 For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. 6 If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer (2 Corinthians 1:3-6)

We lesser mortals take courage to know that even those we look up to as the "greats" have also gone through great discouragement and darkness. It is as Pilgrim thought, when he walked in the darksome valley and heard a voice before him saying "Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me" (Psalm 23:4). He took courage, "Because he gathered from thence, that some who feared God were in this valley as well as himself."

This has been an important factor to me throughout my Christian life and ministry. I think of one man, who I've never yet heard to give an illustration of which he is other than the hero, and others the fools. He's informed me, but seldom been an encouragement to me. But Spurgeon has been my friend and counselor, for the very reason of his equally vivid candid admission of personal weakness, and his robust boasting of the greatness of Christ, and His riches of grace and mercy — mercy of which I know Spurgeon himself drunk deeply.

Now, some theoretician, on learning that Spurgeon was inclined to melancholy, might have advised him to avoid ministry. But this counsel would not have reflected Scripture, which clearly reveals that men of differing temperaments are used by God. The servant's very humanity is the anchor-point in pointing other humans to Deity.

Even as I learned much from J. I. Packer, I was helped by his admission of the shipwreck that holiness teaching nearly brought him to, and how John Owen saved his sanity. Or his humble preface to the study guide for Knowing God: "As fools long to play Hamlet, so I have longed to write a book of theology. This, however, is not it" (from memory).

It struck me again at the Together for the Gospel conference this year, during the conversations these evangelical leaders held for our benefit. In one in particular, these great men — R. C. Sproul, Al Mohler, Ligon Duncan — all were agreeing about how often they'll preach a sermon, and feel that it was an abject, colossal, thudding failure. They admitted that they will slink to the back of the church, almost dreading to hear what anyone will say.

I'm sure I wasn't the only preacher in the room who thought — "You? You've felt this? Even you?" Followed by: "Well, then, maybe there's hope!"

(Then they added the same I've found: that those are often the sermons the Lord chooses to use most graciously. The fancy ones? Not so much.)

Or then again Ligon Duncan, with great feeling, spoke about how he's enjoyed watching a car assembled from all the disparate parts. Then it's done, it's complete — which never happens in a pastor's ministry! Never! The pastor is never done, can never see his completed work, never sees the finished product. "We always want to see that interim report card," Duncan said. Hearing this successful, fruitful, blessed man speaking my own heart so eloquently stirred me deeply.

And it encouraged me. It turned me to Christ. That is the positive effect of godly transparency, as I've been fumbling to sketch it.

But before this sketch is done, such as it is, I'll have to break out the charcoal and draw some dark lines of caution.

In the next post.

Update: Part Three.

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It's a COOK BOOK! GAAAAGH!

by Frank Turk

Last week, Phil gave a raving review of a book I had already reviewed at the blog, and of course this is technically his house and he can do whatever it is he sees fit to do. I'm mostly glad that I get to ride on his coat tails and occationally get a word in edgewise, as I did last week on Paul Edwards' radio show. Thanks to Paul, btw, for being extremely gracious and treating me like I had something more to say than "ohh Ee ooh ah ah! Ting! Tang! Wallawalla Bing Bang!"

Anyway, since Phil re-reviewed the "Why We're Not Emergent" book, I thought I'd coat-tail him again and sort of pre-emptively review the other book he raved about in that post. But as I was reading it, I had this problem I had to resolve: I found another book which I thought needed a review in a much more urgent way.

That "more urgent" book is a little tome called Pop Goes the Church (hereafter PGTC) by a fellow named Tim Stevens, and I came across it in my own bookstore. See: we belong to this marketing group which helps us out by publishing very slick advertising materials and mailing them to our customer lists, which is of course a perfect thing -- except that it causes us, from time to time, to bring in books we wouldn't otherwise, um, proffer. The reason is simple: these books get the ad money from publishers, and that money ultimately pays for the catalog.

Yes, I get it: that's ugly. That is also the way it goes when you join a marketing group: you have to somehow get past the 20% junk and somehow capitalize on the 80% better-than-junk to try to get people to come back into the store.

Anyway, I grabbed the copy of PTCG and started reading it so I could review it, and the strangest thing happened to me: I realized that the other book was actually reviewing this particular book for me. If I were a charismatic, I think I would attribute this to the Holy SPirit speaking directly to me through these two books. But of course, I have to maintain the semblance of dignity here, so let's just say that God, in His providence, gave me the fodder for a brilliant blog post today, and you're merely fortunate enough to get to read it.

See: here's the thing. Over the last couple of weeks there has been a little dust-up in the blogosphere as to whether one should recommend that others not read a book one finds offensive. One blogger in particular tried to make his point very transparent by deleting posts at his blog which disagreed with him about his point of view -- which, I think, is not exactly the message he was trying to send, but we all have an idiom which we tend to drop into.

Anyway, rather than make the obvious "don't read this book" post about Tim Stevens' book, let me suggest something else instead: first read David Wells' new book The Courage to be Protestant and then read Tim Stevens' book. Because it seems to me that the only way to really "get" either one of these books is to actually put them side by side and, frankly, let the best man win.

Seriously: read them both and compare them. In fact, if there's interest, I'll give you people three weeks to read both of them, and then come back here to an open thread on the subject of which book makes the more compelling case for what the church is and what it ought to be.

Or read them both and then give them to your pastor. Just don't freak out when he realizes that one of these books is a cook book, and he likes that one better. It'll be perfectly creepy like that Twilight Zone episode "To Serve man", because that's exactly what one of these books is advocating: to serve man.

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You need this guy at your church this Christmas

by Dan Phillips

"Christmas?" you say. "Isn't it a little early?"

Trust me. You'll thank me for giving you time to book this man.

(Mainly, I saw this and thought, "Oh, Phil would love this.")

Nor is that the only Yuletide tune in his repertoire:

I'm thinking that, at the Heita3 household, life must be fun, and the grocery bill high. (Obviously, I can't vouch for all the video's... especially the parts in Japanese.)

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Transparency: the good... (part 1 of 3)

by Dan Phillips

Paul said, forcefully and well, "what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake" (2 Corinthians 4:5). Insofar as we — preachers or "lay" witnesses — are faithful ambassadors, we want to hold out Jesus Christ. Not ourselves. We want to point people to Jesus, want them to believe and love and cling to Him. Not us.

Having said that, do you identify with Paul in any way? Does he read like a writing mannequin to you? Or does what Paul says resonate with you, does it have credibility to you? Is his call to "press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:14) compelling to you? If so, why is that?

Of course it is compelling because he is an apostle, a plenipotentiary of Christ, speaking in His name and with His authority (1 Corinthians 14:37). That is true objectively, and regardless of how we feel about Paul.

But God could have solely entrusted the Gospel to be proclaimed flawlessly by bloodless angels. He could have dropped heavenly newspapers out of the sky. He did neither. Rather, He gave the surpassing treasure to be borne in clay pots (2 Corinthians 4:7).

I take it that He had, and has, a reason.

UPDATE: after posting this I came across a passage in Spurgeon's Lectures to My Students where he makes this point, but with far greater eloquence:

Disembodied spirits might have been sent to proclaim the word, but they could not have entered into the feelings of those who, being in this body, do groan, being burdened; angels might have been ordained evangelists, but their celestial attributes would have disqualified them from having compassion on the ignorant; men of marble might have been fashioned, but their impassive natures would have been a sarcasm upon our feebleness, and a mockery of our wants. Men, and men subject to human passions, the all-wise God has chosen to be his vessels of grace; hence these tears, hence these perplexities and castings down.

Part of why Paul's writings resonate with me no doubt is because of his transparency. Nowhere does Paul hold himself out as a plaster saint, free from the weakness and failings we lesser mortals know.

He's bluntly candid about his past, mincing no words: "formerly I was a blasphemer, persecutor, and insolent opponent" (1 Timothy 1:13), who "persecuted the church of God violently and tried to destroy it" (Galatians 1:13), and was "once foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating one another" (Titus 3:3).

But he was no less candid about his post-conversion life, in all its chiaroscuro. Though good men have labored long and hard to undo his consistent use of 1spai (first-person singular, present active indicative), Paul boldly paints himself as struggling with the weakness and waywardness of his flesh (Romans 7:14-25). In the same way he says "I myself am" — not "I was" — the first among sinners (εἰμι ἐγώ; 1 Timothy 1:15). The great apostle admits to "fighting without and fear within" (2 Corinthians 7:5), to being depressed (v. 6) and in need of encouragement (2 Corinthians 1:4), to being occasionally "pressured in every way... perplexed... persecuted ... [and] struck down" (2 Corinthians 4:8-9 CSB).

I identify with this. I read Paul as a real person, a man not unfamiliar — at least, categorically, if not specifically — with the weaknesses and temptations and fears and misgivings with which I myself wrestle.

And so, when Paul calls me to think the way he does (Philippians 3:15) in stretching out with all his might in the pursuit of God's high call in Christ, I hear him: not as a mere theoretician (2 Corinthians 2:11), nor as a sheer authoritarian (2 Corinthians 1:24), but as a real human being who himself had been transformed, and was being transformed, by Christ. Someone who (like me) is most insistently not "arrived" (Philippians 3:13), but who nonetheless is dogged and undeterrable in pressing on towards that goal, for all he's worth (Philippians 3:7-16).

In this, Paul is like many inspired writers, who are equally transparent in how they write. We think immediately of David (Pss. 3, 5, 6, 13 etc.), Isaiah (6:5), and Jeremiah (20:7-18).

We know that these are actual, real men, and not superhuman Louis L'Amour heroes. We see that God truly can be known and served meaningfully even by the imperfect; and that bitter failure or times of darkness are no sure signs that we have no hope before and with God.

But there are dangers as well as uses to transparency, aren't there? It can be used, surely; but can it be abused?

Indeed it can be, and has been.

In the next post, I intend to continue to develop positively the uses of transparency, and the consequences of its lack. (That post will display how this is a "T4G 2008 reflection.") The third post is to note dangers and abuses.

Updates: Part Two; and Part Three.

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Shine Before Men

Part 1 of a series on Matthew 5:16
See also:

• Part 2
  
• Still more

by Phil Johnson



"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven" (Matthew 5:16).

hat's a familiar verse that practically interprets itself, with a command ("Let your light so shine before men"); an explanation of what the command entails ("[Let your light shine so] that [people can] see your good works"); and a reason for the command ("[So that people will] glorify your Father . . . in heaven.")

Despite the simplicity of that verse, there's a lot of misunderstanding nowadays about what it means and what it demands of us. The passage and its context are often cited by those who seem to think it's a call for Christians to harness the political process. It seems like every time I hear anyone talk about "salt and light" nowadays, it's someone trying to rally Christians for political activism or persuade evangelical church members to sign onto some boycott, petition, or letter-writing campaign—as if lighting and salting the culture were nothing other than consolidating the evangelical movement behind a political agenda and then making our voices heard in the political process.

But if you look at this passage carefully in its context, it is not talking about political activism at all. It's not talking about using our clout as a voting bloc, or organizing mass boycotts and protests, or electing Christians to public office. It's talking about holy living at the individual level.

Please understand: as I said last week, I have no objection to Christians who run for political office. I have no doubt that God calls some of His people to serve in government, just as He calls some to serve in business, some to teach in universities, and others to work in every segment of society. All society is salted with Christians, and each one ought to have a beneficial effect in his circle of influence, no matter how big or how small that circle of influence may be. Collectively, we all benefit and preserve and season society as a whole. That truth is certainly what this text is about.

But our influence as Christians is most effective at the personal, grassroots level. There's no suggestion in our text that the church's mission is to commandeer the machinery of secular politics in order to wield our influence through political force or clout. If you have the idea that's the best way (or the main way) the church is supposed to influence society, I think you're missing the point of the text.

I hope you vote. I hope you're a good citizen in every way. And I hope you use your vote conscientiously and with discernment. But if your hope for the future of our society rests in the democratic process, or if you think the fortunes of the church rise or fall according to which party is in power, you need to look again at how the people of God have historically made their influence felt in society. You'll discover that those times when the church has grown the most and when revival has spread furthest are times when believers have been most concerned about personal holiness and evangelism.

And quite often, that has been under governments hostile to Christian truth, even while the church is suffering persecution. That's because the church's most powerful influence comes from the power of the gospel and the testimony of changed lives.

But when influential Christians have tried to steer the church into the political process, their testimony has failed, and they have actually lost influence.

Political clout is not what we need to influence a hostile secular society like the one in which we live today. All the power and all the politics and all the public policies in the world will never force unbelievers to yield their hearts to Christ as Lord.

And if you think when Jesus described believers as salt and light, He was calling His church to political activism—then you need to look at this passage a little more closely.

We'll do that together, Lord willing, in the days to come.

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Itching Ears

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 "The Evils of the Present Time," a chapter in the book An All-Round Ministry.

n reference to ministers, many church-members are indifferent as to the personal piety of the preacher; what they want is talent or cleverness. What the man preaches does not matter now; he must draw a crowd, or please the elite, and that is enough. Cleverness is the main thing. One would think they were looking for a conjurer rather than a pastor. Whether he preaches truth or error, the man is held in admiration so long as he can talk glibly, and keep up a reputation as a speaker.

If we had truer piety in members and deacons, pretenders would soon take their wares to other markets. Alas! I fear there has been great laxity in the admission of members, and the quality of our churches has become defiled and debased by "the mixed multitude," among whom all manner of evil finds a congenial dwelling-place. Unhappy leader, who has an Achan in his own camp! Better that Demas should forsake us, than that he should abide with us, and import the world into the church.

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Wow. Wow. Wow.

by Phil Johnson

've mentioned in the comments, but probably not in a proper blogpost, that I'm in Italy this week for my annual stint teaching theology to a group of mostly bivocational pastors. It's a grueling week—40 hours of doctrine, with as much Q&A as we can pack in. And lots of pasta.

Anyway, just before leaving home last week, I grabbed two of the most interesting-looking books from my stash of T4G loot. All the books, frankly, look great, so I chose two that more or less seemed to go together—David Wells's The Courage to Be Protestant: Truth-lovers, Marketers, and Emergents in the Postmodern World, and Kevin DeYoung's and Ted Kluck's Why We're Not Emergent: By Two Guys Who Should Be.

I read the former book on the plane on the way over, and it's just about the best David Wells book ever (which is saying quite a lot). I intend to write a review of it one of these days soon. In the meantime, be sure to get it and read it. You will not be disappointed.

But what I want to talk about today is Why We're Not Emergent. I started reading this book after my first good night's sleep in Italy; then I finished it in the early-morning hours Thursday, when (owing mainly to time-zone confusion) I couldn't sleep at all.

I'm really stoked about this book. It's the best, most even-handed, most interesting, most insightful, most well-written analysis of Emerging trends yet. DeYoung is a thirty-something pastor in a college community, and Kluck is an engaging sportswriter who has written for several publications, including ESPN Magazine, The Door, and Cigar Magazine. Their writing styles are markedly different, but both men are superb writers with a stunning knack for making points powerfully and succinctly.

I'm especially proud that Moody published this book. I began my career in 1976 with Moody Press (now Moody Publishers), and Moody has been involved in one way or another in every major turning point in my ministry. This book is edgier, meatier, more serious, and more significant than you might expect from Moody on a subject such as this. In fact, Moody sometimes seems to avoid controversial topics altogether. But this is a rousingly bold book produced with impressive flair and a suitable style for the subject matter. I'm fairly certain this is the first Moody book ever to include the word "poo" in a century and a half since D. L. first started the Colportage Association. I'll let you read the book to find the context for that. It didn't offend me; but it left me saying, "Wow."

In fact, I think I said wow at least once in every chapter of this book. No matter how little or how much you know about postmodernism and the emerging church, you will find this book informative and thought-provoking. I'm pretty sure I have read more material on both sides of this issue and spent more hours thinking critically about it than the average evangelical lay person. But I found myself repeatedly being challenged with new facts, fresh ideas, and arguments I hadn't considered before. I gained a clearer perspective even on some of the very aspects of Emergent thought that are most familiar to me.

The book rings all the right notes, at just the right tempo. DeYoung's style is very careful and a little more academic. His documentation is thorough and helpful. But his presentation flows like a breeze. His logic is crystal-clear and easy to follow. He is frugal with words and measured in his tone while being straightforward, definitive, unapologetic, and unequivocal. It's really no wonder he is not Emergent. His mind is too focused to enjoy wandering in the self-indulgent haze of postmodern ambiguity.

Ted Kluck's chapters are equally crisp, but with a less formal, more narrative style. Some of them read like scrapbooks of thoughts assembled thematically, but the points Kluck makes are often powerful, and occasionally breathtakingly so. The two authors make a fine team. Their disparate styles dovetail well, and their message is as unified and clearly focused as their styles are dissimilar.

Here are a few typical excerpts:

• Granted, there is no place for giddiness concerning God's wrath, but isn't there a place for passionate, blood-earnest warning? Isn't it biblical to move past agnosticism about hell and implore people on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God (2 Cor. 5:20)? Could it be that our evangelism languishes, our preaching loses authority, and our congregations lose focus because we don't have the doctrine of hell to set our face like a flint toward Jerusalem? [197]
  
• The main problem in the universe, according to many emergent writers, seems to be human suffering and brokenness. Make no mistake, suffering and brokenness are a result of the fall, but the main problem that needs to be dealt with is human sin and rebellion. . . Christians don't get killed for telling people that God believes in them and suffers like them and can heal their brokenness. They get killed for calling sinners to repentance and proclaiming faith in the crucified Son of God as the only means by which we who were enemies might be reconciled to God (Rom. 5:10). [194-95]
  
• But why do intrigue and search have to mean the end of all certainty? McLaren is guilty of a very modern error, insisting on either-or when a both-and is possible. There is a place for questions. There is a time for conversation. But there is also the possibility of certainty, not because we have dissected God like a freshman biology student dissects a frog but because God has spoken to us clearly and intelligibly and has given us ears to hear His voice. [39-40]
  
• I'm convinced that a major problem with the emerging church is that they refuse to have their cake and eat it, too. The whole movement seems to be built on reductionistic, even modernistic, either-or categories. They pit information versus transformation, believing versus belonging, and propositions about Christ versus the Person of Christ. The emerging church [needs to] discover the genius of the "and," and stop forcing us to accept half-truths. [75]
  
• I just cannot understand how the gospel as a call to become a disciple for the good of the world is richer, grander, and more alive than a gospel that announces God's grace, forgiveness, and the free gift of salvation. . . . If heaven and hell are real and endure forever, as Jesus believed them to be, they ought to shape everything we do during our short time on earth. [186]
  
• The Jesus-versus-theology mantra is centuries old, and it makes no more sense and no more converts today than a hundred years ago. [109]
  
• [Regarding all the angst and shame about the church's track record when it comes to the arts:] I'm still a little unclear as to the reason. Is it because churches aren't displaying art on their walls? Neither are insurance companies, but nobody is up in arms about that. My hunch is that there is this feeling that churches aren't adequately "supporting" artists (musicians, writers, visual artists) in their midst. However, I don't exactly see churches "supporting" software designers, salesmen, or farmers either. That's not the church's purpose. And it seems that the artists who are making the most noise about "not being supported" are the ones who may not have the talent to really cut it in the marketplace anyway. I don't know of any working artists (musicians, actors, writers, painters) who complain that their church doesn't "support" their efforts. Art is tough. Making a living at art is tough. It's tough on families and marriages. That's simply the nature of the game. [143]

Ted Kluck is a better writer than Donald Miller and a much more clear-headed thinker. I hope he will continue to write books aimed at the Christian market.

If Kevin DeYoung is half as good a preacher as he is a writer and analyst, his church is indeed blessed. We shall be hearing more from him.

Incidentally, I googled to see what kind of response this book is getting in the blogosphere's "emerging conversation." It's not particularly encouraging so far. Our long, lanky Kiwi friend brushed it off with irony. Dan Kimball found the book "interesting," and while assuring us that he "always want[s] to be very open to criticism or listening to people who may have concerns"—yet (without being the least bit specific) he "did express that at certain times I felt they painted a one-sided perspective of what 'the emerging church' believes about something when there are also other views within it." Kimball also said he had shared with DeYoung and Kluck "about some places where they wrote some things about friends of mine in the book whom I felt that they misunderstood by what they wrote about them." (Not a particularly helpful analysis, but it's "vintage" Kimball.) And Mike Morrell tried to make a few rather superficial points against Why We're Not Emergent, then invited the authors to further dialogue at the Ooze—i.e., on his own turf.

However, I don't think this is a book the Emerging movement is going to be able to brush aside with a facile wave.

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PS (for those who have already asked, and others who will ask): Yes, I heard these guys get a little bit snide about John MacArthur (at Greg Koukl's prompting) on "Stand to Reason" last week. But I want to be fair and evaluate their book on its own merits. It's worth noting that Kluck writes disapprovingly of people who make "jokes at the expense of people like Thomas Kinkade," but he himself occasionally falls into (in his words) "the irony and cynicism that infuse almost any interaction with almost any person under age forty-five." In fact, on the same page where Kluck looks askance at snooty Kinkade jokes, he refers to Donald Miller as "the male Anne Lamott"—and then tries to soften the snarkiness of that remark with an apologetic end note (p. 144). It seems it's really hard to keep cynicism out of the conversation—especially when the conversation is about a movement that is so thoroughly cynical. Hey, who am I to complain? I'm not even under 45, and I've got to admit that "a little bit snide" is a besetting sin of mine. For the record, however, (and this is for Koukl's benefit, too): If you're going to criticize someone else's "tone" and "stridency" and failure to "relate," it's probably a better strategy to get well past that and into a totally different context before reaching for expressions like "death warmed over" and "unintentionally hilarious" to describe the physical appearance of a fairly dignified pastor.

Sorry Dan!

by Frank Turk

Joe Carter and I will be on Paul Edwards today at 3:30 PM CT to talk about The Gospel and Politics. You follow that link, and you can hear the stream.

Pray for all of us that we put Christ first.

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Frank: I listened to you and Joe Carter on Paul Edwards via streaming feed. Great, great job—all three of you. But I especially liked your input. Joe is no doubt correct that actual grassroots evangelical involvement in the political process is pretty low. But the number of professing Christians willing to turn off "American Idol" and take the Great Commission seriously is surely even lower. Joe seems to think all this evangelical apathy proves my whole argument is invalid. But he is actually proving my point. See: I didn't suggest that Evangelicals have done well organizing, mobilizing, and integrating their own rank-and-file into the political process. In fact, I said nothing at all about the level of grassroots involvement. What I complained about was the inordinate amount of energy and resources that are spent on politics rather than evangelism by evangelical organizations and leaders. Here's a major part of the problem with trying to drum up evangelical zeal over something as mundane as politics: It's uninspiring compared to the challenge of the gospel, and it has helped breed a generation of evangelical couch potatoes who think sending Dobson or the Republican party a check fulfills their duty to "engage the culture." But the typical fad-driven evangelical is no more a true activist than the liberal fat cat or Hollywood celebrity who thinks if she buys enough carbon credits she is really helping change the world. The answer isn't to invest more energy and resources into political lobbying. It's to get off the couch and back into the world with the gospel. You made that clear. Thanks.

Substitutionary atonement and Proverbs (part 2 of 2)

by Dan Phillips

In the first installment, O Pyrophilus, I sketched out the course a Christian reader must take in harvesting the full, Divinely-intended value from the Old Testament. One must neither improve the text by inserting ideas inaccessibly alien to its human authors or readers, nor rob the text through denial of God's intended meaning.

I set as a challenging example the doctrine of penal, substitutionary atonement as pointed to by the book of Proverbs. The first of two signposts I found there was the frequent use of "Yahweh," the name of Israel's God, who must be approached by faith on the basis of penal, substitutionary atonement. To name Yahweh in the text of the OT is to name the God of penal, substitutionary atonement.

The second signpost

The second signpost I see is in Proverbs 17:15 —

He who justifies the wicked and he who condemns the righteous
are both alike an abomination to the LORD.

At first blush, the intent of this text is plain: it sets the standard for forensic justice in the deportment of judges. Yahweh intends strict justice to be carried out. The judge may neither turn a blind eye to wrongs committed, nor falsely impute wrongs or crimes to the innocent, for the (Exodus 23:6-8; Deuteronomy 16:18-20; 25:1; Proverbs 17:26; 24:24).

Failure to uphold justice in court was one of the crimes for which Yahweh indicted and punished Israel (Isaiah 5:7, 20; 10:1-2; Amos 5:7, 12-15; Micah 3:9-11; Malachi 2:17, etc.).

What does any of that have to do with penal, substitutionary atonement?

So glad you asked!

The problem...

It is a Biblical fact — not merely a NT fact — that all men are sinners by nature and by choice. Adam and Eve sinned and died spiritually (Genesis 2—3); and their children were conceived and born bearing that same broken, corrupted nature (Genesis 5:3). They still bear God's image, but that image is warped by a propensity to sin. God's universal assessment of mankind is not favorable (Genesis 6:5). David's depiction of mankind is similarly unsparing and stark (Psalm 53:1-3). And Solomon, author of Proverbs, echoes this same viewpoint: "there is no one who does not sin" (1 Kings 8:46). In fact, in that very book, he rhetorically asks, "Who can say, 'I have made my heart pure; I am clean from my sin'?" (Proverbs 20:9). Clearly the answer expected is, "No man."

"No man"? No man. "Including, say, Abram?" Yes, of course: that would have to include Abram.

Uh-oh. In that case, we have a problem.

The problem is Genesis 15:6, where we read that Abram "believed [Yahweh], and he counted it to him as righteousness." Abram — wicked, sinful Abram — was counted righteous, when he believed Yahweh.

Yahweh justified the wicked — the very thing that Proverbs 17:15 says is an abomination to Yahweh. How can this be? Did Yahweh Himself do what was abominable in His own eyes?

Here is where taking an approach that respects the whole text of Scripture makes an immense difference.

In the short(er) run we know that Moses, who penned the problematic Genesis 15:6, was aware of the fundamental principle of Leviticus 17:11 — "For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I [Yahweh] have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life." Moses knew that atonement for sin, for sins, for sins such as Abram's, can only be made by the shedding of blood. He knows that Abram had offered sacrifices (Genesis 12:7-8; 13:4, 18), and that Yahweh Himself had made bloody sacrifice on formalizing His covenant with Abram (chapter 15).

Yet there is a tension within the OT itself on the subject of sacrifice. For one thing, the sacrifices themselves had no transformative power, and so many writers deride individuals who looked on them as if they were magical box-checking, formalistic remedies for their unrepented moral crimes (Isaiah 66:3; Jeremiah 11:15). Solomon himself brought scorching barrages to bear on anyone who viewed sacrifice as being an externalistic "fix" for an unrepentant, unbelieving heart (Proverbs 15:8; 21:27).

Beyond all that there is the fact that, even in the case of those with repentant faith, the sacrifices had to be repeated over and over and over. The Day of Atonement occurred year in and year out, again and again. In expressing this, none can surpass the eloquence of Apoll... er, the writer of Hebrews, when he says:

For since the law has but a shadow of the good things to come instead of the true form of these realities, it can never, by the same sacrifices that are continually offered every year, make perfect those who draw near. 2 Otherwise, would they not have ceased to be offered, since the worshipers, having once been cleansed, would no longer have any consciousness of sins? 3 But in these sacrifices there is a reminder of sins every year. 4 For it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins. (Hebrews 10:1-4)

Trace it out, then:

1. God does in fact declare the wicked righteous
2. He declares the wicked righteous through faith
3. He declares the wicked righteous on the basis of penal, substitutionary atonement that deals with their sins and His just wrath...
   
4. ...But the atonement provided within the OT itself was imperfect and insufficient.

This was the state of affairs under which Solomon wrote Proverbs 17:15.

The tension, then, is not resolved within the OT. It is only moved forward.

However, the whole OT itself does contain within itself signposts to the ultimate and satisfying resolution of this awesome dilemma.

....and the promise

A major prophetic promise comes in a book which, ironically, begins (in part) by a thunderous and devastating denunciation of Israel's abuse of ritual and sacrifice to cover over their unbelieving lives (Isaiah 1:10-15). Yet I've long envisioned a contemporary of Isaiah's reading those words and thinking, "Yahweh doesn't want sacrifice? What does that leave us?"

Yahweh's ultimate and final answer is given in the jaw-dropping prophetic revelation of Isaiah 52:13 — 53:12. Though this isn't the place for a lengthy exposition, one can readily see the sacrificial imagery throughout this oracle. Isaiah depicts this human being, this Servant of Yahweh — who clearly is not Israel idealized nor otherwise (cf. v. 8, and the repeated contrasts of the one vs. the many, the we and the Him) — offering Himself up to bear the wrath of God for sins not His own, but His people's. This individual, Himself righteous (v. 11), dying as a penal, substitutionary sacrifice for the ungodly and wicked (cf. vv. 4-10).

The pivot, in connection with Proverbs 17:15, is found in Isaiah 53:11 — "Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied; by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities."

There it is:

• Many sinners...
• ...will be accounted righteous
• ...on the basis of the perfect and final penal, substitutionary atonement that the Servant of Yahweh would provide.

Note: we have seen all this without citing one verse about Jesus from the New Testament.

But it all makes the greatest sense of Paul's argument in Romans. Once again, on the face of it, these two verses stand in stark and obvious contradiction:

He who justifies the wicked and he who condemns the righteous
are both alike an abomination to the LORD (Proverbs 17:15)

And to the one who does not work but believes in him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is counted as righteousness... (Romans 4:5)

Yet final and ultimate reconciliation is found in the penal substitutionary atonement of our Lord Jesus Christ. Paul opens this up in Romans 3:25-26, which speaks of Jesus Christ —

...whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God's righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins. 26 It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just [δίκαιον, dikaion — righteous] and the justifier [δικαιοῦντα, dikaiounta — the one who declares righteous] of the one who has faith in Jesus.

Jesus Christ is God's ἱλαστήριον [hilastērion], the sacrifice that absorbs and deflects His just wrath. His blood deals with our sin; our sin is imputed to Him, and His righteousness is imputed to us. In this way and in this way alone, God can be righteous, and declare wicked Abram righteous through faith alone. He can be righteous, and declare wicked Paul righteous through faith alone.

And He can be righteous, and declare wicked you, and wicked me, righteous through faith alone, by grace alone, on the basis of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ alone.

And so you see, the principle of Proverbs 17:15 is the key to the necessity of penal, substitutionary atonement

1. If God, with no cause nor reason, pronounces guilty people righteous, then He violates His own principle of justice, and un-Gods Himself. However,
   
2. If God imputes our sin to Christ, and imputes Christ’s righteousness to us, with Christ making full atonement for our sin, then is He just and the justifier of believers
   

It was well that Thomas Watson called redemption “the masterpiece of divine wisdom.” Watson envisions the counsels of eternity thus:

God’s mercy looked at us in our miserable and helpless estate, but how to do it without wronging the justice of God? It is a pity, says Mercy, that such a noble creature as man should be made to be undone; and yet God’s justice must not be a loser. What way then shall be found out? Angels cannot satisfy for the wrong done to God’s justice, nor is it fit that one nature should sin, and another nature suffer. What then? Shall man be for ever lost? Now, while Mercy was thus debating with itself, what to do for the recover of fallen man, the Wisdom of God stepped in; and thus the oracle spake: —Let God become man; let the Second Person in the Trinity be incarnate, and suffer; and so for fitness he shall be man, and for ability he shall be God; thus justice may be satisfied, and man saved. O the depth of the riches of the wisdom of God, thus to make justice and mercy to kiss each other! (Thomas Watson, Body of Divinity [Baker: 1979 (reprint of 1890 ed.)], 51.)

Amen!

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