Colossians: the city, its inhabitants, its church

by Dan Phillips

I enjoyed sharing with you some reflections from one of my favorite books — Colossians — and decided I'd follow in Frank's footsteps, and start a series of occasional posts, drawing from the notes of my detailed study in the letter.

What Was Colosse? Colosse was located in the Roman province of Asia, built on the southern bank of the Lycus River, which is a tributary of the Maeander River (Hiebert's Introduction).The Greek historian Herodotus called it a “great city” in the fifth century, and Xenophon called it a “populous city, wealthy and large” a century later (O’Brien). By Paul’s time, however, it had been surpassed by neigh¬boring Laodicea (10 mi. W, founded and named in wife’s honor by Antiochus II [261-246 BC]) and Hierapolis (12 mi. NW); still had a thriving wool industry, however, and a color of wool named after it.

Importance of location. At this point the Lycus Valley is 10 mi. X 2 mi., “walled in by great precipices (Hiebert). It is “a strategic spot on the important highway from Ephesus to” the Euphrates Valley (ibid.) For this reason, it would host travellers going back and forth from the distant spots of Rome and the Euphrates Valley. I'll refer back to this when I talk about the "Colossian heresy," DV, as I will also refer to...

Populus. Colosse would have had plenty of native Phrygians and Greek settlers (O’Brien). Josephus said that Antiochus III (“the Great”; 223-187 BC [new ISBE]) moved 2000 Jewish families into Lydia and Phrygia. Note: these Jews were not brought in from Palestine, but from Babylonia and Mesopotamia (O’Brien, p. xxvii). In ca. 62 BC it is calculated that there were about 11,000 free Jew¬ish males in nearby Laodicea (O’Brien, p. xxvii). So the populus was a mixture of

• Native Phrygians
• Greek settlers
• Jews via Babylon and Mesopotamia

The church in Colosse. Who founded it? It was not Paul (cf. 2:1); rather, Epaphras, himself a native Colossian (cf. 4:12), was the founder (cf. 1:5-7).

What was Paul's involvement, then? See the account of his ministry in Acts 19:8-10. During this extended ministry, the word of the Lord spread abroad, drawing many to saving faith. I would surmise that Epaphras was one of Paul’s converts during this time. The apostle instructed Epaphras of Christ and the Good News, then Epaphras returned to his hometown area, evangelized, and started at least one church in Colosse. Ephaphras still carried the apostle's commendation as a faithful preacher of the Gospel (1:7), and a servant of Christ Jesus (4:12)

But then after the planting of the church, Epaphras ran into some trouble, which I plan to study with you in a future post. He went to Paul in Rome for some help — which he got, in the form of this power-packed little jewel of a letter.

To be continued, Lord willing....

SERIES NOTE: unless specified, all translations from Colossians are my own ad hoc renderings of the Greek text, as are translations from other books when designated DPUV [Dan Phillips' Unauthorized Version]. Unspecified translations from other books are ESV.

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Steve Brown's "Grace in the Church" course at RTS: impressions and analysis

by Dan Phillips

Between this blog and my own, I've reviewed books, movies, software and music. To that, a couple of years ago on my blog, I added a review of a seminary course offered at Reformed Theological Seminary in Florida, taught by Steve Brown. This is an edited consolidation of two posts from there. The course I'm reviewing is available via their virtual campus presence on iTunes. Brown is a Presbyterian (PCA) pastor who's an author, pastor, seminary prof, and radio host. Brown is Professor of Preaching at RTS. I'm no Brown-specialist; this review is of one specific course. I have heard Key Life a few times, and saw a snippet of a cable-type TV show Brown did in which he had friendly arguments with the execrable Tony Campolo (I think this is the series). Now, to the course.

Among a number of courses I listened to from Reformed Theological Seminary was thirty-seven lectures on grace by Steve Brown.

In style, they're winsome, occasionally thought-provoking, and really irritating — not in a good way. Brown dispenses counsel and makes statements that I think are flat-out irresponsible. But because he's PCA, he's teaching at RTS, and he disagrees with Tony Campolo, I listened to the entire series in an effort to get his point.

Here's what I came away with.

First, my Summary Statement: Brown says a number of valuable, useful and true things in a winsome, easy-listening manner — however, he encrusts all that in so much that is irresponsible, reckless, harmful and/or garbage that I could never recommend him without a list of warnings and qualifications so long it would look like what you get with a new prescription ("Here are the ways this medicine could kill or horribly disfigure you for life:....").

Here are my main thoughts and observations:

1. I want to trade my whiny, nasal voice for Brown's basement-deep, resonant voice.
2. Brown comes across as an eminently likable fellow.
3. Brown says a number of thought-provoking things. Though he doesn't develop it Biblically at any length, he says "God isn't mad at you anymore." For the Christian, true (Romans 8:1) — and praise God for it. Brown says God never disciplines Christians because He's mad at them. Brown says "nothing is perfect, nothing is forever, and you aren't home yet." Mostly true. Brown says, When a dog plays checkers, you don't criticize his game; you're just pleased and surprised that he's playing at all. (The point being, I think, that we wouldn't be so shocked at our failures if we didn't have such a high opinion of ourselves.) True. Brown says that when pain exceeds payback, real change becomes possible. Good point. Brown criticizes phony airs Christians feel they have to put on in front of other Christians, our failure to extend anything like grace and compassion towards one another. Too true.
   
4. The man has more stories and illustrations than Methuselah. The whole course is heavy on stories and anecdotes — but offers next to nothing in terms of Scripture. 
5. This is a big weakness. In theory, Brown constantly claims that everything he says is Reformed and Biblical and sound and true. In practice, he doesn't seem to feel the need to root much of it in Scripture. The entire course featured only a relatively few allusions-to/citations-of Scripture, and no extensive exegesis or exposition. He keeps asserting that his students can look it up, or that he's got a ton of Biblical backup, or that he'd normally give Bible but since they're seminary students he won't (?!). Brown rests it all on a case he never makes Biblically.
6. More than anything, Brown comes off like a guy who's latched on to a true and Biblical concept (grace), detached it from the Bible, loaded it with his own ideas and concepts and implications, and made a career of it. (We warned against that danger back in 2006, and again in 2008... and probably several other times.)
7. To his credit, Brown constantly urged his two classes to feel free to challenge him Biblically. To their discredit (in my I-wasn't-there opinion), they never did. Perhaps they started out convinced.
   
8. All of the alarms I have begun to sound and will develop in a moment are borne out in this comment thread. In that thread, one Christian brother attempts to bring the Bible to bear on some of what Brown says and does. Granted, he doesn't do it in the nicest way, but he does it faithfully. By and large, the host of respondents do not even attempt to engage the Bible. They respond in
   
   
   Brownisms. This is a huge red light. Much as Brown denies that he wants to make Brownite disciples, that is exactly what he is doing. Since they can't see it in Scripture, they must depend on Steve Brown's thoughts, his ideas, his cute sayings, his insights, his experiences, his stories. That is a necessary and unavoidable consequence of giving endless podium-time to stories, illustrations, and cute sayings instead of exposition of the text of Scripture, and then development of a system from that text. People come away knowing Brown, not Scripture, and therefore — I fear — not necessarily knowing God.
9. Brown says some things that are absolutely, barkingly, wildly irresponsible; and if his students take any of them seriously, they will ruin their ministries, themselves, and other people. For instance:
   

   (A) Brown says that, when one is preparing a sermon, and he thinks of saying something but his conscience or judgment tells him he shouldn't — he should anyway! Because that's probably God talking to him. (I can imagine the jaws of dozens of readers who are pastors, hitting the floor.) So, in the Brown universe, verses like Proverbs 10:19; 12:18; 15:28; 17:27; 21:23; and 29:20 are not nearly so important as expressing oneself in a personal pursuit of "grace."
   (B) Brown also tells Christians they should disagree with their pastor once a month, period, just because it's healthy for their assertiveness. The spirit of 1 Corinthians 16:15-16; 1 Thessalonians 5:12-13; and Hebrews 13:7 and 17, not so much.
   (C) Brown speaks of a Christian leader who fell morally, badly, and says in effect that he's glad he did, because it was good for him. Too bad about the guy's family and church and witness and ministry and all, and God's reputation, I guess.
   (D) Brown urges all of them to cuss. Just to do it. I don't recall an exposition of Ephesians 4:29. I guess he already did all that, somewhere, or it was in his notes.
   (E) Brown keeps talking about dialogues he has with God, and quoting (usually without qualification) things God supposedly says to him, Steve Brown, that are not in Scripture. But it's okay, remember, don't be alarmed — because he says believes in the Reformed position on the inerrancy and sufficiency of the Bible, and he isn't a charismatic, and maybe he's hearing God wrong. (Those are his "covers.") Yet Brown natters on about things God says to him, about God laughing, and a bunch of dribble attributed to God — and Brown isn't talking about the Bible. Which, as you know...yikes. Fingernails on the chalkboard of my soul.

10. Brown says weird things about repentance. I listened twice, and still can't quite explain his position. Brown denies the Biblical teaching that repentance means a change of mind which necessarily issues in adorning fruitful actions... though those elements come back into his teaching at other points. Brown says that he used to teach something like that forgiveness was apologizing for spilling the milk, repentance was cleaning it up. He now regards that as a terrible error and false teaching, for which he apologized everywhere he had preached it. Repentance is not change, Brown insists emphatically. It is understanding who God is and what He did and who I am (?!!). This takes me right back to my pre-Christ days in the cult of Religious Science. It turns the crisp Biblical call to action into a New Agey realization. No longer is repentance a decisive change of mind that issues in a change of behavior, because we can't change (Matthew 3:8; Acts 26:20; Romans 12:1-2 and etc. to the contrary notwithstanding).
    
11. Don't really love the plethora pop-psychology and faddish phrases, like "giving [this and that person — including God] permission" to do or be something.
    
12. Brown says people should burn Dave Hunt's book that criticizes Richard Foster (because Foster is a hero of Brown's); and he told a whole audience to burn John MacArthur's The Gospel According to Jesus — when he hadn't even read it! So Hunt's bad, MacArthur's bad, yet....
    
13. Again and again Brown trots out his creds: I am a Christian, I am orthodox, I am Reformed, I am a five-pointer, I am conservative, I believe in literal 6-day creation, and on and on. But then Brown says...
    

    (A) ...that if this unsaved Jewish rabbi he personally likes doesn't go to Heaven, Brown doesn't want to go, either. Now, what is that supposed to mean? The words mean that the Christ-rejecting rabbi's presence is more important to Brown than Jesus' presence. Surely Brown doesn't mean that. But he said it.
    (B) Brown says that there are no "super-Christians," except maybe (Mary-worshiping proponent of a Gospel-perverting sect) "Mother" Theresa, and (longtime doctrinal compromiser) Billy Graham. In other words, these two may well be above every other living Christian, including John Piper, John MacArthur, Al Mohler, and everyone else.
    

    

    (C) Brown frequently speaks of how much insight he's gotten from this or that Roman Catholic or otherwise heretical writer, on various aspects of Christian living.
    (D) Brown enthuses about what a great and real relationship with God unbelieving, apostate Jews have.
    (E) Brown mentions how he wears a New Age bracelet for some physical ailment, quipping that he "tried Jesus" and it didn't work, so he is trying this ("and I thought I heard the angels laugh," he adds — I didn't).
    (F) Brown frequently says in passing how well this and that apostate heretic "understands grace."
    (G) Brown says in particular that (unrepentant antinomian murderess) Annie Lamott is a wonderful Christian person who he thinks is so great and loves to provide a soapbox on his radio show.
    (H) Brown says that Harry Emerson Fosdick was a Christian, and probably would be "on our side" (or some equivalent) if he were alive today

14. From all that, my impression is that Brown can't think the Biblical Gospel is very important, in spite of what he says about the Biblical positions he formally holds.
15. And that would mean Brown's not very Reformed — since if being Reformed means anything historically, it must mean seeing the Gospel as a decisive, divisive, watershed issue. Which makes me wonder what he's doing, teaching at Reformed Theological Seminary, host to many wonderful classes by men like John Frame and others.

I left the course disappointed. I went in genuinely open-minded. Whatever I gained was so buried under endless stories and bizarre beep-beeps-from-outer-space, and so devoid of Biblical exposition, that I was left un-profited, and very concerned about Brown's disciples.

On "grace": for what I hope is a Scriptural corrective, review Grace: eighteen affirmations and denials.

Take this lesson, at the very least. You can insist that you believe in the inerrancy and sufficiency of Scripture, and that your positions are Biblical, until your blue head caves in — but if you don't specifically and continually ground every major point and application in the Word, you're just preaching yourself. People will walk away quoting you, not the Word. That means they're leaning on you, trusting you, depending on you and your insights. You've become their priest, their Pope, their magisterium.

You're making disciples of yourself, not of Christ.

You think about that. Amen.

UPDATE: since these articles The World-Tilting Gospel was published. If you read it, you will find that it thoroughly responds to Brown's muzziness, and anticipates the current (2014) arguments about sanctification and grace.

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Friendship with the World Is Enmity against God

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 "I and the Children," a sermon preached Sunday Morning 20 September 1874 at the Met Tab.



o not believe that the common Christianity of the present age will carry anybody to heaven. It is a counterfeit and a sham. It does not make men to differ from their fellows, it pretends to faith and has none, talks about love and does not show it, brags of truth and evaporates it into thin air in its latitudinarian charity.

God give us back the real thing—stimuli, strong belief in the gospel, real faith in Jesus, real prayer to him, real spiritual power.

Then again there will be persecution, but it will only blow away the chaff and leave the pure wheat!

The world likes us better because we like the world better; it calls us friends because we doff our colors and sheathe our swords and play the craven; but if we preach and live the gospel in the old apostolic way, we shall soon have the devil roaring round the camp and the seed of the serpent hissing on all sides, but we fear not, for "the Lord of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge."

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A bit more thinking on Colossians 3:12-14

by Dan Phillips

Tuesday I mused on the formal clash between a sermon introduction (can't change a drunk by dressing him up) and part of the text it introduced (Colossians 3:12-14 — which tells us to dress up!).

Let's take up with my ad hoc translation of the text itself:

Put on, therefore, as people selected by God, holy and abidingly loved, compassionate affections, kindness, humble-mindedness, gentleness, long-suffering, ¹³bearing with one another and freely forgiving one another if one should have a complaint against someone; just as also the Lord freely forgave you, thus also you should do. ¹⁴And on top of all these things put on love, which is the unifying bond that leads to maturity. (DPUV)

"Put on" these eight virtues / attitudes / graces / practices, the apostle says. But he does not merely say that. He says to put them on:

First, as those "selected by God." This translates ἐκλεκτοὶ τοῦ θεοῦ (eklektoi tou theou), identifying them as those who in eternity past had been singled out by God from the mass of humanity, and thus made objects of His saving grace, and bequeathed to Christ for salvation (cf. John 17:2, 6; Ephesians 1:3-14). This massive exertion of divine power brought life to the dead and light to the darkened, through sovereign, creative, powerful grace (2 Corinthians 4:6; Ephesians 2:4-10; 5:8).

The next two descriptives may modify this alone, but each will be taken in turn.

Second, they are "holy," which is to say that they are set apart for God's ownership and service. This is accomplished once for all by the offering of the body of Christ (Hebrews 10:10), is also a work of sovereign grace (1 Corinthians 1:30), and is why all Christians without exception are dubbed "saints" — holy ones (ἅγιοι, hagioi). We are not what we were — or, put another way, in Christ  we are what we were not.

Third, they are "abidingly loved," which is my way of trying to catch the perfect passive participle ἠγαπημένοι (ēgapēmenoi). They became objects of God's free love, were objects of God's free love, would remain objects of God's free love. This is not a weak, wimpy love of good intentions, but a mighty powerful love that sees to it that the deepest needs of its objects are met (cf. John 13:1; Romans 8:28-39).

So this is the frame, the setting for the call to "put on" the graces Paul then enumerates.

To go back to the pastor's illustrations, they are not still unreformed drunks, plucked from the street for a merely external makeover. They have been transformed by God's mighty, redeeming love. They are not what they were, could not ever again return to what they were.

So now that they are new, what of their lives? What should characterize their lives? The same smelly, rancid, repellent garments that once suited them perfectly? Never! That was then, this is now (cf. 1 Peter 4:3).

What's the deal here, then? The deal is that we have been fundamentally changed, true. But note how Paul cuts the heart out of all quietism. There is no suggestion that I am to "wait on the Lord" to add these graces to me, or put them on me, or even to work them into me.


The idea is I am different, I have a different wardrobe — and I am both spiritually able and morally obliged to put it on.

This is a command.  It is not a statement of fact or a prediction. It gives me something to do, and tells me to do it.

This command is addressed to me. It is not addressed to the Holy Spirit, it is not addressed to the Lord Jesus. It gives me something to do, and tells me to do it.

So it is not inward transformation from without, it is outward transformation from within. If I were to massage the "drunk" illustration, then, I would say it is taking the drunk out of the gutter and transforming him — then saying, "Look, those clothes don't suit you anymore. These do. Here, put these on."

And so we should, and so we must.

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The Golden Age

by Frank Turk

I dunno about you, but I have had a Hard. Week.

And that, for about three weeks now. God bless us to be busy rather than not (because I have also been unemployed for 18 months, and I wouldn't wish that on anybody), but "busy" will wear you out -- especially when it takes you off your spiritual gain.

It's weeks like this which make me think about the Golden Age of the church -- because, as many of you will testify, the local church is not in a golden age. It's probably not even in a plastic disposable age at this point. And as such, it often falls short of meeting our spiritual needs -- unlike the church of the Golden Age.

The church of the Golden Age would be full of the love of Christ, right? And full of people who have overcome sin. It would be lead by Christ and by men just like Him. And when I have a lousy day that lasts for weeks (or months), that church would be there for me all the time.

And wow: would the church of the Golden Age have good doctrine. The teaching there would be from like one who has authority -- not just lip service, not just translations from the Greek and Hebrew, not just lessons about how to live our lives. The doctrine of the church of the Golden Age would both humble us and lift us up so that we could be both servants of Christ and also his brothers and sisters all gaining the inheritance of the Father in eternal life.

It's weeks like this which I really long for the church of the Golden Age. But this week I wanted to remind all of you -- because I myself needed reminding -- that the church of the Golden Age is not past.

The church of the Golden Age is still coming. It has never yet been here, but in it our hope lies.

It's on days like today, in weeks like my last three weeks, that I look to that church, and all I can say is, "Please, Lord Jesus: come quickly."

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Spiritual transformation: half a thought on Colossians 3:12-14

by Dan Phillips

This is a maybe-slightly-more-than-half-formed thought based on Colossians 3:12-14. You may want to hang on to your receipt, in case it's not fully-baked enough for you.

The pastor of the church we attend is doing a (to me) whirlwind series on Colossians — I say "whirlwind" because I really love Colossians, and when I preached it I'd sometimes just take a verse, or a phrase, and camp out on it. Families started, kids went off to college, married, raised children of their own; empires rose and fell...

Okay, perhaps I exaggerate.

At any rate, I openly doff my hat to a man with a more disciplined mind.

The pastor's opening illustration was very effective. He told of a drunkard who was adopted by a group, for a convention of (I think) barbers and the like. These men gave the drunk a haircut, a shave, a manicure, a change of wardrobe — it was a major makeover. He was displayed to the group as a rousing success, an amazing transformation.

A few days pass, and here's the same man, the grand sartorial success story. But in what condition? Very different... and yet not different. He's back in the gutter, drunk, of course.

Changing the outside does not change the inside.

At this point I depart somewhat from Pastor Finch's sermon to pursue my own thoughts with you. First, here's the translation I made when I preached through Colossians:

Put on, therefore, as people selected by God, holy and abidingly loved, compassionate affections, kindness, humble-mindedness, gentleness, long-suffering, ¹³bearing with one another and freely forgiving one another if one should have a complaint against someone; just as also the Lord freely forgave you, thus also you should do. ¹⁴And on top of all these things put on love, which is the unifying bond that leads to maturity. (DPUV)

Point of departure: Pastor Finch's illustration was absolutely right: you can't change a heart by changing clothes. What is interesting, though, and what got me thinking, is that the word translated "Put on" in v. 12 is Ἐνδύσασθε (endusasthe) — which means to put on clothes!

I started musing. Odd, isn't it, that Paul spoke of spiritual transformation, using a word that seemingly suggests the very thing Pastor Finch had just negated in his introduction. The good pastor said putting on clothes won't change a man... and here Paul uses a word meaning to put on clothes.

Was the pastor wrong? Do we transform ourselves from the outside in?

But no, of course Pastor Finch was exactly right. For one thing, Paul's language is clearly metaphorical. You may have noticed over the years that I am no fan of the NIV (nor of the NET), but both hit the idea very well with their "clothe yourselves with." We could equally render it "wear," or "dress yourselves with." But what follows is not a list of accessories, but a catalog of Christian graces. So Paul was not speaking of putting on clothes.

But was the apostle speaking of taking something that isn't ours, though we're Christians, and putting it on from the outside so that we can be transformed on the inside?

The major interpretive key here, I think, is in verse 12 — "as people selected by God, holy and abidingly loved." There is the font of the transformation: election by sovereign grace, whence springs our effectual call, our regeneration, our conversion. That is where I am really changed, when God by sheer grace brings life from death, light from darkness, a child from an enemy (Ephesians 2:1ff; Colossians 1:13; 2:11-14; 3:1, 3; etc.).

But then what is the point of Paul telling me to "put on" these virtues, these graces, these little fragrant whiffs of the character of Christ? Are they mine by regeneration, or not? If mine, why "put them on"? They're already there. If not mine, how can I make them mine?

Hm, this is already longish. Let's take this back up Thursday, Lord willing.

UPDATE: next post.

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Miracles and Acts of Providence

Whole lotta shakin'

There's a vast difference between God's constant providential control over the natural order of everyday events and His occasional miraculous intervention in worldly affairs. If you have difficulty understanding the diffference, here's a real-life illustration that I hope will help.

(First posted 11 November 2005)



etween April 1997 and April 2000, I lived through six earthquakes on four different continents. They were all fairly significant earthquakes that registered between 4.9 and 6.8 on the Richter scale—the kind that make you stop and gasp while you hold onto something for dear life. But they weren't really catastrophic events (unless you count the 6.8 quake at Assisi, in September of '97, which killed 10 people and destroyed some ancient frescoes on the ceiling of the Franciscan basilica there. That one struck within an hour after I had flown into Italy, while Carey Hardy and I were literally standing at our hotel's front desk, checking in.)

Here's the complete list, with documentation:

SIX BIG EARTHQUAKES THAT STRUCK CLOSE TO ME AT THE END OF THE MILLENNIUM
Twin 5.0 quakes in southern CA	April 26 and 27, 1997
6.8 quake in Assisi, Italy	September 26, 1997
5.3 quake Hollister, CA	August 12, 1998
5.1 quake near Queenstown, NZ	April 24, 1999
5.1 quake near Pune, Maharashtra, India	March 12, 2000

The first two of those quakes hit within 24 hours of each other, while I was home. The others all occurred in places where I had gone to minister. The string of earthquakes in and of itself seemed a rather bizarre turn of providence. (An earthquake occurred every place I visited, practically every time I traveled overseas, for three years! What are the odds of that?) I admit that I wondered after the fourth and fifth quakes whether these tremors had some sort of apocalyptic significance, and whether they were meant to convey some divine message to me personally.

It also occurred to me that if I were a charismatic charlatan, I could have parlayed my connection with the earthquakes into big-time fame and credibility, simply by inventing whatever "prophetic" significance I wanted to imagine and claiming the earthquakes were divinely-inspired punctuation marks for my prophecies. After all, I had multiple witnesses to my presence in all six earthquakes. The one in Queenstown, New Zealand, occurred while I was preaching about Jonah, right after I had made an emphatic point about God's sovereignty over the forces of nature.

If you have spent any time in charismatic circles, you know that I could have easily sold the idea that the earthquakes were proof that I am endowed with amazing prophetic gifts.

As a matter of fact, the day before the Pune earthquake, an American faith-healing evangelist launched a series of open-air meetings in Pune, in a vacant lot across the street from where a friend of mine lives. This faith-healer was known for making prophecies of doom. He had preached in Pune a year earlier and prophesied a long series of catastrophic disasters that he said would devastate the region if people did not repent—earthquakes, floods, famines, etc.

Of course, if you make enough prophecies like that, chances are you're going to get one of them right (or close enough) someday. Since this guy's constant theme is disaster and he had already prophesied the full range of possible catastrophes (storms, earthquakes, financial disasters, and so on) the odds were pretty good he'd be able to claim something someday.

This earthquake hit the day after his first Pune meeting, so he immediately claimed the phenomenon was sent by God specifically as a fulfillment of his prophecies.

Now, this earthquake was by no means a disaster. It was enough to shake me out of a deep jet-lag-induced nap and into an immediate state of fervent prayer as the ceiling fan swayed over my head. It shook the whole city pretty hard. But it didn't really do any major property damage. As far as I know, no lives were lost.

My first thought, as soon as the shaking subsided, was, That guy is going to claim this as a fulfillment of his prophecies.

That is precisely what he did. That night more than 10,000 people showed up to hear this counterfeit prophet. They didn't notice the fact that no actual disaster occurred. The famines and financial disasters he had predicted never materialized. Even the earthquake itself was not really a disaster. But that fellow was claiming it as proof that he spoke for God, and multitudes believed him.

I happened to be visiting my friend across the street that night, and we moseyed over to hear the guy preach for a half hour or so. He was the worst kind of false prophet and charlatan, preaching a man-centered health-and-prosperity message to people the vast majority of whom lived in extreme poverty. And he took their money as a "seed-faith offering" that was supposed to make them rich. The amount of money he collected was astonishing. Then after prophesying more doom, he took a second offering.

He was preying on superstition for personal profit.

Superstition is irrational awe or fear of the unknown, resulting credulity regarding the supernatural. In this case, people's superstition was purposely manipulated and intensified by the preacher's deliberate blurring of any distinction between God's supernatural intervention by miracles and His providential control over everything that happens.

A miracle is a particular kind of sign—an unmistakable display of supernatural power calculated to confront unbelief and provoke awe—with the purpose of authenticating an agent of divine revelation. True miracles are not merely arbitrary displays of God's power; they are manifestly supernatural and are themselves a form of revelation.

The earthquake was a natural occurrence, not a "miracle." It had no more significance as a "fulfillment" of that false prophet's wild-eyed forecasts than it had as a harbinger of my presence in Pune. There was no reason whatsoever to see it as an example of immediate and preternatural intervention by God. There was no reason to assume it was a special judgment against the sins of the people in that city, as if they were worse sinners than the people in Calcutta (cf. Luke 13:1-5. As a matter of fact, there was far more evidence of mercy than judgment in the providential outworking of the Pune earthquake). The only reason anyone assumed otherwise was sheer superstition, aggravated by the claims of a man who was pretending to speak for God, even though he clearly did not.

By denying that there was any overt supernatural significance or special revelatory message from God in the earthquake, am I suggesting that God had no involvement in the event at all? Am I claiming it was without any meaning or significance whatsoever—as if it were a chance event, utterly devoid of divine purpose? Of course I am not saying that.

On the contrary, I would insist that God is always working through providence, so that every detail of everything that happens is part of His eternal plan and purpose—right down to "insignificant" details like the number of hairs on your head, or the falling of a sparrow (Matthew 10:29-30). It's not necessary to invent a "miraculous" explanation for every extraordinary turn of events in order to give God due credit for accomplishing His will in human affairs. In fact, it downgrades the biblical concept of miracles to imagine that everything unusual qualifies as a "miracle."

I am convinced by all the clear commands and best examples of Scripture that God would have us ordinarily seek an understanding of how His will and His purposes are being providentially fulfilled (insofar as such understanding is given to us at all) by seeking wisdom in the more sure Word of Scripture, rather than the declarations of uncredentialed modern "prophets" who (I think we all agree) often mistake their own imaginations for revelation from God.

That's true of ordinary and extraordinary providences alike. Miracles are a whole different category, and by definition, they are extremely rare events—even on the pages of Scripture.

If you mask the proper distinction between providence and miracles, you confuse things that ought to be clear—and such confusion always breeds superstition.

David Wayne, the JollyBlogger, has a post that makes this point well: "We reformed cessationists believe that God has ceased revelation, but He hasn't ceased upholding, directing, disposing and governing all creatures, actions and things. In other words, God is working in a mighty way at all times."

Adrian Warnock rejects any such distinction: "I honestly believe it is the cessationist who makes the supernatural/natural distinction too large. "For me, it really doesn't matter too much if God answers my prayer for the healing of Phil Johnson's allergic rhinitis by means of a new medication, his body just suddenly deciding one day no longer to exhibit such symptoms. . . , by miraculously changing something physically wrong with his white cells or by . . . taking Phil home to be with him and performing the ultimate miracle of healing. I just want Phil to be healed."

I appreciate the prayers and the well-wishes, and I agree that God's answer to Adrian's prayer (by sending rain that eliminated the high pollen counts) was just as much an answer to prayer as a miracle of healing would have been. I also agree that it would have likewise been an answer to prayer if God had called me home.

But it's still not precisely the same thing. Ask Darlene if the dead-Phil option and the natural-relief option are functionally equivalent in every sense, and she'll explain why they are not.

But here's the main point: The faith that sees the hand of God in the natural outworking of divine providence (and understands that God is sovereign over every detail of everything that happens) is not a lesser faith than the kind of belief that can only see God at work when He intervenes in spectacular, supernatural, and miraculous ways.

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Games Liberals Play

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 "Living Temples for the Living God," a sermon preached at the Metropolitan Tabernacle. The date was not recorded, but the sermon was published in 1872.


ow-a-days, if a man is very reverent towards the word of God, and very desirous to obey the Lord's commands in everything, people say, "He is very precise," and they shun him; or, with still more acrimony, they say, "He is very bigoted: he is not a man of liberal spirit;" and so they cast out his name as evil.

Bigotry, in modern parlance, you know, means giving heed to old truths in preference to novel theories; and a liberal spirit, now-a-days, means being liberal with everything except your own money—liberal with God's law, liberal with God's doctrine, liberal to believe that a lie is a truth, that black is white, and that white may occasionally be black. That is liberal sentiment in religion—the broad church school—from which may God continually deliver us.

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New Rule

by Phil Johnson



    was gone all day Wednesday and missed the entire discussion that was prompted by Frank's post. I'm sorry about that, because I gather some of the comments were intended for me personally, invoking the name of John MacArthur and whatnot in a backhanded way.

Here's something to consider, and then I'm off to London this afternoon. (Incidentally, I'm going to close comments on this post, since I won't be here.)

We do fully realize that our replies to critics and dissenters are often more blunt, to the point, and firm than evangelicals who have imbibed heavy doses of Christianity Today (or dabbled at the edge of Emergence) are accustomed to. That is deliberate. Read our blog and you'll see that one of the things we are openly trying to do here is bring Christian candor, courage, and vigorous theological convictions out of the closet (where they were forcibly locked away at the end of the nineteenth century) and set them free into our little corner of the blogosphere.

Although we are fallen and certainly fallible, we don't want to be uncharitable or carnal in what we write, and we do our best to acknowledge our failings. On the other hand, we're vehemently opposed to unbiblical and worldly ideas about what true charitableness looks like. (Bear in mind: that stance alone is enough for some folks today to conclude that a person is wickedly uncharitable.)

Vague complaints about "tone" and assumptions about our motives are themselves uncharitable. If you are truly offended at something I have said, point it out to me, and say why it is offensive or inappropriate. It sometimes happens that I do say things too harshly, or make some uncharitable generalization of my own. I try to acknowledge those offenses and seek forgiveness when they occur. If you think I'm guilty, say so, but have the courtesy to show me why.

If, on the other hand, you think it is always our duty to defer to every serial complainant who plays the victim card as soon as he runs out of other arguments, then you haven't heard a word we have been saying about how earnestly we despise postmodernism's distaste for truth, faith, certainty, steadfastness, and open discourse thereon.

Now, if your real complaint is that you like the pomo idea of "charity" better than the biblical method of speaking the truth in love, just say so and let's move on.

Over the years, whenever anyone has fanned the flames of this argument, I have repeatedly asked our critics to be specific; cite my words if you feel I have transgressed, and make your case biblically. Somehow, no one ever seems to follow up with an actual reply to that plea. Yet as we saw Wednesday, those who prefer their accusations vague don't even take a breather. Then characters come running to join the dogpile who almost never comment on our blog except to complain that we're too harsh when we disagree. And the cycle begins again.

So I've made a new rule and added it to the short list in the right sidebar: If you think we have breached the boundaries of Christian civility, please be specific. Point out the infraction and explain why you think it is unbiblical. General complaints or cheap-shot comments about tone will be summarily deleted.

If you want to challenge a point we make or dispute about our doctrine, have at it. Be as forceful and persistent as you like. But if you just want to badger us with vague objections to our intonation, I'm afraid you have missed your chance. That thread is now closed.

Thanks.

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Faith v. faux humility: a parting philippic plea

by Dan Phillips

After his conversion, Paul says that he was still unknown in person to the churches of Judea. Then he adds:

[Christians] only were hearing it said, "He who used to persecute us is now preaching the faith he once tried to destroy."  And they glorified God because of me.  (Galatians 1:23-24)

Were this passage written of the big noises in the 1800s and 1900s, and their "bold" and "daring" and "questioning" mirror images today, we would have to make some changes:

[Despisers] only were hearing it said, "He who used to persecute us is now trying to destroy the faith he once preached."  And they glorified me at the expense of God.  (2 Nuances  0:0-0)

 Leaving me only to attempt a few parting pithicisms:

1. There is a reason the faith is called the faith (cf. Acts 6:7; 13:8; 14:22; 16:5; 1 Corinthians 16:13; 2 Corinthians 13:5; Galatians 1:23; Jude 1:3, etc.).
2. There is a reason Christians — saints, the people of God — are called believers (cf. Acts 5:14; 10:45; 19:18; 1 Thessalonians 1:7; 2:10; 2:13; 1 Timothy 4:12, etc.).
3. There is a reason why God the Holy Spirit often moved men to write positively of growing in the faith, progress in the faith, continuing in the faith, building up in the faith, and the like (cf. Ephesians 4:13; Philippians 1:25; Colossians 1:23; 2 Thessalonians 1:3; 1 Timothy 3:13).
4. There is a reason why God the Holy Spirit often moved men to write terrible warnings against denying the faith, wandering from the faith, abandoning the faith, swerving from the faith, upsetting the faith of some, being disqualified concerning the faith, and the like (1 Timothy 4:1; 5:8; 6:10, 21; 2 Timothy 2:18; 3:8; Revelation 2:13)

All that (and much more) being the case, it seems wiser to devote one's energies to promulgating truths which lead to faith that brings life (John 20:31) — truths of God's Word, which "is able to build you up and to give you the inheritance among all those who are sanctified" (Acts 20:32) — rather than pushing away the full authority of God's Word (1 Timothy 6:3), and ending up "conceited, understanding nothing, but having a sick interest in disputes and arguments over words" (1 Timothy 6:4 CSB).

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Constant Criticism

by Frank Turk

Ahem. Case in point

So I get an e-mail from a fellow blogger (he'll remain nameless so that this good deed at least will go unpunished) who asks me if maybe I didn't say something I shouldn't have said in describing the encounter between MD and RW. To be honest, I think I was probably glib. So on the good advice of a person who had a valid criticism, I have offered a revision.

I have a real uneasiness about completely revising the stuff I post on the internet with no indication that it has been revised, so I have put STRIKE marks through the offending text and put my revision of it immediately after.

Please note it for future reference.

Before you read too far, let me admit upfront that this post is two things: an adaptation of a post I made at my blog in 2008, and a rider on the theme Dan and Phil have been setting up this week so far. So if it reads a little familiar, thanks for being a studious reader of my blog. For the other 3,000 of you, let's proceed.

Back when this post was fresh, Rick Warren (RW) had just called Mark Driscoll (MD) to tell him what a fine lad he was for having the guts to make scatalogical jokes about Jesus from the pulpit while MD was in a time of particularly-intense criticism, and he gave MD a little advice. Among the gems MD communicated on his blog was this item:

However, Warren said, in our day criticism is marked by the following four factors:

1.Instant
2.Constant
3.Global
4.Permanent

He forgot "mean" and "impersonal" (meaning "they don't apologize for disagreeing", and "they don't call you on the phone first"), but I take exception to the idea that internet criticism is "permanent". Blogging, or erecting a web site, for the sake of some argument or issue doesn't make it "permanent" any more than getting your book published makes its contents "permanent".

What it does do is make it public, and the question then is "will anyone read it?"

If some guy named, um, "centuri0n" sets up a blog and starts saying that Rick Warren has 3 wives and practices Shinto in his basement at an altar to his father's father, the first question is, "did anyone really read that?" And the second question is, "can that be proven at all?"

That guy with a blog may never delete his blog, but if no one ever reads it, the only one who will judge him for it is Christ -- which is, of course, certainly bad enough. The tree fell in the woods, and nobody else cared. So "permanent" is a bizarre category for what is different about criticism today.

I'd also like to add that the attribute of "constant" criticism is only born by those who are doing something which somehow keeps drawing attention -- usually to their foibles or errors. For example, I am unaware of Mark Dever having to field "constant" criticism -- unless I should have read [insert your fav watchblogger here] lately or something.

Let me suggest that pastors who are "constantly" in the scopes of critics either have established themselves as opponents of a very active but vulnerable enemy, or they are doing something which deserves criticism. There may be a third choice, but I'll bet if you can find one, it's really the first choice.

For example, there was a time when Phil Johnson took a lot of guff from Fundamentalists. Phil had made some statements -- which he stands by -- criticizing the problems with their movement, and the defenders of Fundamentalism came out of the woodwork. The problem, however, was that Fundamentalism was both very active (in numbers, anyway) but also very vulnerable -- and the advocates for such a thing had to try to push Phil over because, well, if he's right the movement was dead, dying, or worse.

The other example I'd tender is Joel Osteen. Why does Joel take guff from people as diverse as Michael Horton and Steve Camp? It's because Joel is off the apple cart, out of the street, down the storm drain, and rolling down into the swamp outside town.

Criticism is not just hard to bear because it seems to come often. It is hard to bear either when it is the truth or resembles the truth enough to cause us to pause. False criticism is pretty easy to bear unless it costs us money or prison time -- the rest of the time (like when people call me "mean") it's good for a laugh just to see how far someone will take their imaginary world.

And here's the punch-line: how we behave when we are criticized tells us a lot about who we are as people.

There's plenty to work out from that statement, but I leave it to you, the reader, to help a brother out in the comments. I have work to do today, and I hope to be back at lunch to help sort out some of what is bound to happen while I'm out.

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Real humility, real arrogance

by Dan Phillips

I'm going to tag-team off of Phil's fine post from yesterday.

It chafes to be on the wrong end of an unfair comparison. Your parents think your sibling is the best little child because (s)he's a skilled kiss-up, and they don't hear the seditious chatter that starts up the moment they leave the room. Or you try to be a godly wife and mother who uses her abilities to the full in service of God and your family — but you know that society sees you as pathetic and servile, favoring instead aggressive, un-feminine, ungodly women.

Or you're a Christian who takes his stand on the Word of God, knowing you're seen as arrogant, blind and proud, while doctrinaire ditherers and world-loving compromisers enjoy a reputation for humble, open-minded intelligence.

The stance of the Word on the matter is plain and univocal, more than one post can do justice. But we'll give it a whack.

Let's start by way of Hebrews 11. We all know that the men and women in that chapter were flawed, yet they are held up as examples. In what way are they examples? In their weakness and vacillation? Not at all, but "by [faith] the people of old received their commendation" (v. 2).

Again and again, the writer focuses on the faith that motivated the believers of old, and describes them as those "who through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions,  quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight" (vv. 33-34). It was as they were nerved, strengthened, and moved to action by resolute faith that they served as models.

So cast your mind back to Psalm 1. You know the characteristic of the blessed man: rather than join in the walk and worldview of the wicked, he delights in and dwells on God's Word. To what does God liken him? To a tree, transplanted by streams of water (v. 3).

Think of trees. They're boring! They just stand there. And stand there, and stand there, and stand there. Imperceptibly, yet steadily, they grow and bear fruit — but their characteristics are (1) life, (2) fruitfulness, and (3) a certain immobility.

Much more exciting is the chaff. Watch the chaff driven by the wind: now here, now there, ever in motion, ever moving, ever dynamic — ever dead. See, that's why it's so mobile. It has no roots, no life, and no future (vv. 4-5).

If David wrote Psalm 119, he weighs in again on this subject from another angle:

You rebuke the insolent, accursed ones,
who wander from your commandments (Psalm 119:21)
The insolent utterly deride me,
but I do not turn away from your law (Psalm 119:51)
The insolent have dug pitfalls for me;
they do not live according to your law (Psalm 119:85)

Three times we see the insolent, who are arrogant and presumptuous. What characterizes them? God's word is not enough for them. They wander from God's commandments, they turn away from His law, they do not live according to His revelation.

And there is the soul of pride: God has spoken, but it is not convicting, not compelling, not enough.

Thus it ever was. Satan started right there: the conversation-starting open inquiry "Did God really say?" soon led to "God was wrong."

Very little has changed. When you hear A, start looking for B.

The believing perspective is the opposite. The believer is the one who finds God's word utterly sufficient, and utterly compelling. "The lion has roared; who will not fear? The Lord GOD has spoken; who can but prophesy?" (Amos 3:8).

Comes the New Covenant and Jesus, and nothing has changed. Jesus has no praise for the restless wanderer, but does pronounce blessing on the one who hears, heeds, and builds his (boring, immobile, stable) house on His words (Matthew 7:24-27).

So His apostle will want to see believers who are — not constantly flitting hither and yon from fad to fad, but — resistant to winds of doctrine in their steady growth (Ephesians 4:13-14), and stable in their walks (Colossians 2:2-10). What he wants is for them to "be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain" (1 Corinthians 15:58).

Nor is it a matter of indifference to the apostle of Christ. The Gospel is specific and not-other. If let slip, it will not save (1 Corinthians 15:1-2). If perverted, it brings damnation (Galatians 1:8-9).

It is interesting that this stance will infuriate compromised ditherers not content to take the minority position. The psalmist notes, "The insolent smear me with lies, but with my whole heart I keep your precepts" (Psalm 119:69). Desperate to shush their throbbing conscience or quiet the fears of God's judgment, they must slander those whose example stings them.

So they lie about us. It can't be that we really just plain old believe God, it must be a holier-than-thou pose. It can't be that we are so aware of what benighted idiots we are that no other place is a safe place for us, no other stance is possible for us than to stand on the word. It must be that we're actually arrogant and proud and stubborn.

In other words, it has to be about something other than what it really is about.

God's stance is very plain. He in no way calls dithery, compromising instability "humility." In fact, listen to what He does so categorize: "But this is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word" (Isaiah 66 2b).

So, in sum:

The soul of humility is to seek a clear word from God, and respond with "Amen" — that is, to find it, and stand on it without compromise or apology. It is about God and His glory.

The soul of arrogance is to take a clear word of God, and respond with "Has God really said?" — that is, to put energies into defending compromise, dithering, uncertainty, unbelief. It is about man and his straying.

God grant us true humility as He defines humility.

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Can You Be Humble and Certain at the Same Time?

by Phil Johnson

I was re-reading a couple of our comment-threads recently and decided to cobble together (and slightly re-edit) some of my own comments to make the following post. It deals with a timely topic I've been thinking about this week, and I didn't want these thoughts to stay buried in an old comment-thread. I originally wrote these remarks in response to someone who complained that I don't change my mind enough, and I don't concede enough to people who disagree with me in our comment-threads.

his blog is not a place where we just think out loud. The stuff we write about tends to focus on a few (mostly important) issues we have thought a lot about and studied with some degree of care—mostly things we're pretty passionate about. Our opinions on such matters do tend to be fixed enough that it would take a lot more to change our minds than the musings of some fresh-faced high-school graduate who is just reacting in the comments section of our blog to an issue he has never before devoted 20 seconds thought to untangling.

But we're not dogmatic about everything. On many theological questions, you could barely even get me to offer an opinion. For example, if you asked me for a thorough account of how the Holy Spirit's ministry in the New Covenant differs from His role under the Old Covenant, I'd let someone else answer the question. Although it's a question that interests me, I haven't really studied it in careful detail, and I'm not going to be dogmatic. I have no interest in most debates about eschatalogical timelines, and even though I'm a committed Calvinist you'd have a hard time provoking an argument with me about the extent of the atonement.

In other words, my dogmatism and feistiness are limited to relatively few issues—mostly essential gospel truths and a few lesser truths with very serious ramifications. Of course those are the same things I tend to blog about most. If you're looking for a blog where ambivalence, uncertainty, backpeddling, and indecision are valued more highly than clarity and firm beliefs, there are plenty of blogs like that out there. It's a very popular thing to be wobbly nowadays. But that's not authentic humility. Search the Scriptures and see for yourself. I can't think of a single verse in the Bible that equates humility with vacillations of the heart and mind. In fact, before you can be truly humble you must at least be certain of your own fallenness and guilt.

I know people who undergo seismic paradigm-shifts in their thinking every three years or so, like clockwork. When their friends don't follow every wind of change, they tend to get really upset. In fact, the blogosphere sometimes seems dominated by people like that. They celebrate their own doubts and then blog nonstop about the recalcitrance of Reformed opinion. It's not that they have different convictions; they simply hate all conviction. They are cocksure in their own uncertainty.

Who is more "arrogant"? Someone who refuses to compromise even when popular thinking shifts against him, or the guy who never really settles on any truth and yet constantly argues about everything anyway—not because he himself has stumbled on something he is certain about, but merely because his contempt for other people's strong convictions is the way he justifies his waffling in his own mind?

The issues of uncertainty-as-humility and pathological paradigm-shifting have come up at our blog (and in the comments) many times over the years. I could name several fairly well-known quasi-evangelical pundits who think constantly renouncing whatever they themselves said just last year is the very essence of "humility." There are even whole blogs devoted to this notion, suggesting that everyone's "spiritual journey" ought to be filled with hairpin twists and turns (contra Colossians 1:23; Ephesians 4:14, and a host of other passages that urge us to be steadfast in the faith).

I know already that someone will reply to this post by pretending I've said it's always wrong to change your mind. For the record, that's not even close. What I am saying is that people who are prone to undergo regular seismic worldview-level paradigm-shifts every other year or so probably shouldn't fancy themselves fit teachers or be chronically argumentative until they have stood firm in an opinion for at least five years or thereabouts.

Once more: Scripture never commends people for the "humility" of claiming they're not sure what's true and what's false, or that it's impossible to clearly understand what God's Word actually means. The Bible never encourages us to remain unanchored about what we believe and celebrate our doubts—especially while we're functioning as teachers of others. Jesus referred to that as the blind leading the blind, and He indicated that it's a Really Bad Thing.

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