Theology Central

Recent days and years have seen an increased interest in the idea of theological retrieval. While the interest in this idea has grown lately, the practice has been around for some time. This is nowhere near an exhaustive list, but all of the following projects fall within the broad brush of theological retrieval: Roman Catholic ressourcement, la nouvelle théologie, paleo-orthodoxy, ancient-future Christianity, evangelical Catholicism, Radical Orthodoxy, theological interpretation of Scripture, Evangelical ressourcement, and the New Studies in Dogmatics book series. Even if you are not familiar with any of these names, a short glance around evangelical theology today along with its recent publications would reveal that there is not only an increased interest in theological retrieval but also a growing call for its necessity.

So what is theological retrieval and is it any different than what we think of as church history or historical theology? The short answer is that retrieval is a particular way of doing historical theology, largely in its insistence on a certain posture toward the Christian past. In my view, I see retrieval as helpful, precisely because of this posture, despite my dissatisfaction with many instantiations of it.

To understand the posture, it helps to understand its foil. As the opening paragraph implicitly shows, the assorted incarnations of theological retrieval have major differences. But perhaps the most important general agreement is their pushback against at least two complementary problems: (1) the enlightenment and modern epistemological posture that prioritizes independence and progress along with (2) modern theology’s neglect of the terms, content, and resources of classical Christianity. This modern posture is rather obviously problematic to traditional Christianity as theologians have always been interested in passing on a deposit from the past to the future. These problems are not completely foreign to traditional Christianity, though. I would argue that much of our contemporary Christian culture could be described by individualism, relativism, and a thin understanding of history at best. Retrieval wants to help remedy this.

At this point it may still sound like theological retrieval simply wants to do church history as it has always been done. But more than just wanting to inform about the past, retrieval wants to cultivate a disposition. John Webster points toward the difference when he says that retrieval is an “attitude of mind” toward the Christian past that believes it to be uniquely valuable and necessary for the church in the present.

This call for more historical engagement suggests an understanding of history itself and how history should be done (historiography). There are competing views of historiography that are at play which will determine both if someone will participate and how they will participate in theological retrieval. Not everyone sees or does church history the same way.

This points to an important quandary. On the one hand, should the history of the church be understood essentially as a fall (or irreversible decline) that needs to be recovered from? Or on the other hand, should the history of the church be understood essentially as a consistently rich source that is best approached with deference and expectation? Once you answer this question, more questions follow, but this is the fundamental dichotomy against which theological retrieval is responding.

Present-day proponents of theological retrieval would clearly advocate for the second option. They argue that church history is a lush deposit, an embarrassment of riches that we must let serve as our guide and teacher. Further, to listen well to the past one must recognize that the past did things differently and we must adjust to their way of thinking.

But what does this look like? I only have space for a brief explanation. At its core, this is an attitude toward history and the church that sees continuity with past Christians, as well as obvious discontinuities. As a Protestant, in this thinking, I may consider patristic and medieval church history not as a low point with little to no value, but as my history. Though Protestants will have significant disagreements with their Christian ancestors, the point is that they will not out-of-hand consider them fundamentally tainted, certainly not to the point of dereliction. That would be a posture of plundering a conquered foe, where one would only pick and choose pieces that appear useful. From the perspective of theological retrieval, a Protestant could (perhaps even needs to) sincerely sit at the feet of the patristics and medievals and learn. This is the posture of benefitting from a companion, where one will be challenged while also challenging. And this will be undertaken as a matter of obligation toward the church universal. In other words, to claim such a heritage ought to mean knowing something of that heritage.

As I said above, more questions need to be addressed within this discussion. How we answer these could put us all over the spectrum of Christendom and it will cause various forms of retrieval to be more or less beneficial. Our ecclesiology, particularly how we understand union with Christ, the body of Christ, and God’s preservation of his church through time, is important. Our relationship to tradition, traditions, and the Great Tradition and the question of where the locus of theological authority lies is likewise an essential discussion. Retrieval surely does not mean that we ignore our disagreements with our ancestors.

Not overlooking these qualifications, proponents of retrieval generally maintain that this use of history better handles our own limitations (sinfulness and finitude) and our responsibilities to the communion of saints. Further, as Fred Sanders contends in his book, The Deep Things of God, much that is “latent” in our own Protestant, evangelical, and conservative theology (Sanders looks specifically at Trinitarianism) received initial and extensive explanation in the earlier eras of the church. To retrieve these explanations is not just to be reminded of what we have forgotten or overlooked, but to enrich what we have tacitly accepted (such as Chalcedonian Christology or the classic explanations of the divine attributes). Oliver Crisp is correct that we have “a far poorer grasp” of the glorious realities that we already accept in our theologies than do our “dead friends.” Indeed, the rewards for having a more robust understanding of Trinitarianism, atonement theology, and worship (to name a few more loci) are great and ultimately lead to more and better doxology.

One of the clearest portrayals of what retrieval is all about was given by Robert Louis Wilken in a 1991 First Things essay: “Without tradition, learning is arduous at best, impossible at worst. In most things in life—learning to speak, making cabinets, playing the violin—the only way to learn is by imitation, by letting someone else guide our movements until we learn to do the thing on our own.” The temptation to neglect the past, dismiss the past, or casually accept the past are strong. Our history has wisdom that we should not and ought not neglect. Theological retrieval is not simply a call to understand the past better, but to let that understanding influence our theology and ministry in the present.

Not all attempts at retrieval are pleasing or equally helpful. But, in its general posture toward the past, its desire to learn and grow, and its desire to enrich the doctrine and practice that we already claim, it is most welcome.

This essay is by Matt Shrader, Director of Recruitment and Retention and Assistant Professor of Church History at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Partners of a Glorious Hope

Charles Wesley (1707–1788)

Partners of a glorious hope,
Lift your hearts and voices up;
Jointly let us rise and sing
Christ our Prophet, Priest, and King.
Monuments of Jesus’ grace,
Speak we by our lives his praise.
Walk in Him we have received;
Show we not in vain believed.

While we walk with God in light,
God our hearts doth still unite;
Dearest fellowship we prove,
Fellowship in Jesus’ love:
Sweetly each, with each combined,
In the bonds of duty join’d,
Feels the cleansing blood applied,
Daily feels that Christ hath died.

Still, O Lord, our faith increase;
Cleanse from all unrighteousness:
Thee the unholy cannot see:
Make, oh make us meet for Thee!
Every vile affection kill;
Root out every seed of ill;
Utterly abolish sin;
Write Thy law of love within.

Hence may all our actions flow;
Love the proof that Christ we know:
Mutual love the token be,
Lord, that we belong to Thee:
Love, Thine image, love impart!
Stamp it on our face and heart!
Only love to us be given;
Lord, we ask no other heaven.

Here at Central Seminary we are fast approaching our annual MacDonald Lecture Series. Readers of the Nick of Time will be greatly encouraged by joining us on February 11 for this year’s set of talks on the writings of Andrew Fuller, the pre-eminent British Baptist pastor of the late eighteenth century. My good friend and warm-hearted scholar, Dr. David Saxon, will deliver these lectures. David serves as professor of church history at Maranatha Baptist University. I can assure you, both from personal experience and from the testimony of hundreds of Dr. Saxon’s students, that you will not be disappointed or bored by a dull, monotone discourse but rather you will be challenged to know God more deeply and to love God more fervently.

As we anticipate this upcoming event, I would like to look back to our 2019 MacDonald series during which I had the privilege of speaking about sanctification. (These lectures are available on our seminary website at https://vimeo.com/channels/macdonaldlectures2019.) First, I want to provide further information about another group of antinomian writers which could easily have comprised a fifth lecture in last year’s meeting. Second, I want to give an update regarding some recent occurrences among one of the groups I discussed.

Before giving updates and additions, I need to give a short overview of the four lectures on sanctification given last February. Lecture #1 sought to answer the question, “How do we grow in our Christian walk?” I considered five models proposed by sanctification teachers in evangelicalism—Wesleyan, Pentecostal, Keswick, Chaferian, and Reformed—and suggested that the Reformed view best fits the teaching of the Bible.

Lecture #2, “The Meaning and Means of Perseverance,” showed how the Scriptures teach the necessity of perseverance in the believer’s life, i.e. believers will continue in faith, love, and holiness because God freely saves them once for all. I provided an overwhelming number of biblical texts demonstrating this truth. Following this, I listed four means God uses to help His children to persevere in faith and good works: suffering, commands, conditional promises and warnings, and fellowship in the local church.

In the third and fourth lectures I discussed two groups in evangelicalism who have tended to downplay the importance of good works and holy effort in the believer’s sanctification. Lecture #3 talked about the Free Grace movement which stemmed from dispensational theology, and Lecture #4 focused on the antinomian tendency flowing out of some elements of Reformed theology.

Following these lectures, I learned of a third stream of antinomian theology in evangelicalism, the hyper-grace movement. Amazingly, while Free Grace teaching came from dispensational circles, and the source of what I called “antinomianism” in Lecture #4 came from Reformed circles, hyper-grace teaching comes from Pentecostal/Charismatic circles.

Allow me to share a short history of the hyper-grace movement which will include the names of its major proponents. Then I will provide a delineation of the basic teachings of this group.
Hyper-grace teachers have undoubtedly expressed their beliefs for many years through preaching and teaching in their local churches and their church-based training institutions. However, it appears that they did not begin to articulate their ideas through the writing media until about 2005. Around that time and continuing steadily since, many books (the majority of which are self-published) and many blogs have been published.

The most prolific writer among hyper-grace teachers is Singapore pastor Joseph Prince. A few of his books on this subject include Destined to Reign (2007), Unmerited Favor (2009), and Grace Revolution (2015). Pastor Clark Whitten, who pastored three mega-churches before founding Grace Church of Longwood, Florida, in 2005, wrote Pure Grace: The Life Changing Power of Uncontaminated Grace (2012). Other writers include D. R. Silva, Hyper-Grace: The Dangerous Doctrine of a Happy God; Paul Ellis, The Hyper Grace Gospel; Eddie Snipes, Abounding Grace; Andre Van der Merwe, GRACE, the Forbidden Gospel; Rob Rufus, Living in the Grace of God; Chuck Crisco, Extraordinary Gospel; and Andrew Farley, The Naked Gospel. Simon Yap and Ryan Rufus are two hyper-grace bloggers among many others.

Several Pentecostals have stepped forward to blow the whistle on these hyper-grace teachers. Chief among them are Michael Brown, Hyper-Grace: Exposing the Dangers of the Modern Grace Message (Charisma House, 2014), and a book edited by charismatic historian Vinson Synan, The Truth about Grace: Spirit-Empowered Perspectives (Charisma House, 2018), which includes contributions from eighteen writers.

Brown lays out the main tenets of hyper-grace theology, and I am drawing from his book in this listing. First, God has already forgiven all our sins—past, present, and future. Hyper-grace teachers believe that this truth has several effects that are consistent themes in their writing: God never sees the sins we commit as Christians; there is no need to confess our sins to God; the Holy Spirit does not convict believers of sin since He has already forgiven and forgotten them; and repentance is only a change of mind. A second major aspect of hyper-grace theology is a denial or severe downplaying of progressive sanctification and the responsibility of the believer to participate in the pursuit of holiness. A third feature flows out of the second: God always sees us as perfect in His sight so there is nothing that believers can or should do to try to please God. Fourth, spirituality is an effortless experience in the life of the believer. Such things as witnessing, praying, and being obedient take place without any labor; all believers must do is rest in the finished work of Christ. Fifth, there is a tendency to ignore and devalue the Old Testament which also includes an undermining of the moral value of the law for believers today.

Space does not allow a refutation of each of these areas of incorrect teaching, but the reader can see many ideas similar to those propounded by the other two groups I discussed in last year’s lectures.

I would like to shift gears now and talk about what is happening in the antinomian Reformed world. In September 2019, Tullian Tchividjian, grandson of Billy Graham, former pastor, author of two important books (One Way Love and Jesus + Nothing = Everything), and leader of the Liberate conference from 2012-2015, stepped back into pastoral ministry following several adulterous affairs, a divorce, and a defrocking from the PCA. The 47-year-old has now remarried and is pastor of a nondenominational church, The Sanctuary, in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. Many questions arise from this development, and perhaps another essay can address them.

Some changes have also taken place with The Boys, a group of four Reformed pastors from the Nashville area. The leader of the group, Byron Yawn, has had to step away from ministry, and two others (Jeremy Litts and Ryan Haskins) are concentrating on pastoral ministry. The website started by the Boys, Theocast, is currently overseen by the last member of the group (Jon Moffitt), who still pastors in the Nashville area. He has now been joined by Pastor Justin Perdue from Ashville, North Carolina, and Pastor Jimmy Buehler from Willmar, Minnesota. These three have published another book on finding rest in God, entitled Faith vs Faithfulness: A Primer on Rest (2019). Sadly, I have much to say about these developments, but too little space to do so.

In regard to sanctification generally I encourage each one to rely upon the Spirit, who helps us to obey the imperatives while resting in the indicatives of our salvation.

This essay is by Jon Pratt, Vice President of Academics and Professor of New Testament at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Teach Me, O Lord, the Perfect Way

The Scottish Psalter, 1880

Teach me, O LORD, the perfect way
of Thy precepts divine,
and to observe it to the end
I shall my heart incline.

Give understanding unto me,
that I Thy law obey;
with my whole heart shall I observe
Thy statutes night and day.

In Thy law’s path make me to go;
delight therein I find.
Unto Thy truth, and not to greed,
let my heart be inclined.

Turn Thou away my sight and eyes
from viewing vanity;
and in Thy good and holy way
be pleased to quicken me.

Confirm to me Thy gracious Word,
which I did gladly hear,
to me Thy servant, LORD, who am
devoted to Thy fear.

Turn Thou away my feared reproach;
for good Thy judgments be.
Lo, for Thy precepts I have longed;
in Thy truth quicken me.

In 1947, the French Nobel Laureate Albert Camus wrote the novel The Plague. The fictional story is set in the city of Oran in French Algeria. Oran, as actually happened many times in its history, experienced a terrible plague and the town was eventually quarantined and sealed off. The occupants, some residents and others simply passing through, suddenly find themselves trapped in the town with no escape and the prospect of death encroaching. The allegorical narrative centers around several main characters, each of whom represent a specific worldview. The cast includes an atheistic physician who, through his medicinal knowledge, seeks to find a cure; a suicidal and delusional introvert whose mood ebbs and flows with changing news; an educated civil employee who overcomes personal disappointment to organize volunteers in the community during the long period of tragedy; a visiting Parisian journalist who desperately misses his wife; and a respected Jesuit priest whose indomitable spirit is supported by his fidelity and devotion to God and others.

Each character tries, in his own way, to overcome the horrors of the plague, only to find suffering unavoidable. The physician spends the entirety of the novel attempting to alleviate pain and suffering but realizes that he is fighting a losing battle. When the plague worsens, the eccentric introvert attempts suicide, then tries to become friendly, then ends up reverting back to his delusions and finally begins randomly shooting at people to hasten death. The stoic civil servant, though trustworthy and intelligent, eventually contracts the dreaded disease. The journalist plans a foolhardy escape over the barricades to return to his wife but ultimately decides to remain in the city as he develops a sense of cultural connection. The priest believes that the disease is the result of divine judgment. Though he personally cares for the infirmed and encourages the other characters to trust in God, in the end the priest succumbs to the plague and dies. Death comes sporadically as each finally accepts the futility and randomness of life. 

Camus, an early postmodern, uses these characters to promote the idea of the absurdity of existence. Each character represents some form of modernity, either attempting to find meaning through science, self-improvement, human ingenuity, or cultural systems. Even the priest, representing religion and faith, is at first praised for offering hope, but ultimately cannot reconcile a transcendent, omnipotent God with human suffering. God cannot understand pain and death because God cannot suffer and die. In the end, the only success is that of the civil servant, who, by embracing the human spirit, experiences some small semblance of happiness. According to Camus, humanity must stop looking for outside help through theism, science, or political theory. It must find its own way. Camus’ critique of finding joy and meaning within a structure is correct. Every attempted human explanation fails to ultimately address the true problem—inescapable death.

Scripture knows something about suffering and death. Many biblical characters, like the trapped residents of Oran, were faced with death while questioning God’s actions. “Some were tortured…others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword” (Hebrews 11:35­–37). Throughout its pages, humans (like Job’s friends) seek to explain the human problem by positing worldviews, but ultimately fail to adequately understand the human experience. Scripture shares Camus’ critique of finding ultimate answers in methods, explanations, or even theism.

The gospel, however, is unique, not because it offers a better explanation or varying system but because it offers something entirely different—a story. A story about the Divine embracing the authentic human experience, not merely existing in some aloof transcendence. A story about the Divine suffering and knowing real temptation, not callously watching from afar. A story about accepting death, not attempting to escape it. A story about overcoming the plague of sin, not by human accomplishment or ingenuity, but by humble faith. A story of victory through pain, not the avoidance of it. A story of life because of one Man’s death, not life despite death. A story of the triumph of the human spirit through the Holy Spirit. The gospel is a message from God, written through humans to humans.

Camus’ critique is correct, though incomplete. He recognizes the futility of salvation through systems. Every human explanation is utterly insufficient. Hope must come from outside of the world, outside of ourselves. Simultaneously, any answer to the human experience of pain and death must also be just that: human. The answer lies both outside and inside of humanity. Only the gospel accomplishes both. The gospel offers a story that is transcendent yet immanent, fully divine yet fully human.  

“Who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:6–8).

This essay is by Brett Williams, Provost and Executive Vice President at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Jesus, Commission’d From Above

Ambrose Serle (1742–1812)

Jesus, commission’d from above,
Descends to men below,
And shows from whence the springs of love
In endless currents flow.

He, whom the boundless heaven adores,
Whom angels long to see,
Quitted with joy those blissful shores,
Ambassador to me!

To me, a worm, a sinful clod,
A rebel all forlorn:
A foe, a traitor, to my God,
And of a traitor born.

To me, who never sought His grace,
Who mock’d His sacred word:
Who never knew or loved His face,
But all His will abhorr’d.

To me, who could not ever praise
When His kind heart I knew,
But sought a thousand devious ways
Rather than find the true:

Yet this redeeming Angel came
So vile a worm to bless;
He took with gladness all my blame,
And gave His righteousness.

Oh that my languid heart might glow
With ardour all divine!
And, for more love than seraphs know,
Like burning seraphs shine!

I am in Kansas City this week at the first of what may become a new biennial conference aimed at encouraging young people to consider foreign missions. In the tradition of the Student Volunteer Movement, Urbana, and Student Global Initiative (SGI), a group of concerned pastors and others began meeting and praying about starting a conference for college- and seminary-aged individuals to focus on the continuing need of world evangelism and church planting. Dave Doran and the Intercity Baptist Church hosted SGI for about fourteen years in the early years of the new century. SGI’s last conference was a few years ago. Tim Barr (a Central grad who has been teaching periodically in a restricted access country) and several others organized Advance the Gospel this week in Kansas City. The conference has brought together about two dozen speakers from North America and Africa. We are meeting in the facilities of the Tri-City Baptist Church of Blue Springs, MO, where Tim recently became pastor after a number of years in Adrian, MN.

On Thursday, Dave Doran started the conference off with a message on “God Centered Missions” from 2 Corinthians 4:15. He emphasized that missions is first and foremost about the glory of God. God is advancing his glory among the nations and believers are called to join God in promoting his glory. On Thursday night, Ken Mbugua, pastor of Emmanuel Baptist Church of Nairobi, Kenya, spoke from Romans 1:1-6 on the Preeminence of Christ in Missions.

The evening ended with a round table discussion on training nationals with three individuals who have been heavily involved in this ministry. It stressed the importance of life-on-life mentoring as a starting point for theological education. (Due to concerns about security and the fact that several participants are working in restricted access places, I cannot use their names or places of ministry in this report.) Training nationals is an important part of the church planting process. Nationals need to assume the leadership of churches newly planted and they need training.

Mission agencies, seminaries, and ministries of helps are also represented at the conference in the display area. It has been good to catch up with ministry friends scattered far and wide in the Lord’s work and to hear of the progress of the gospel around the world. In addition to general sessions focused mainly on preaching the Word, the conference includes a number of workshops by practitioners who are bringing years of expertise to the conversation about gospel advance.

On Friday, I am to give a workshop on the global presence of Pentecostalism and its impact on missions. As this conference meets, a memorial service is to be held in Orlando, FL, for Reinhard Bonnke, a German-born Pentecostal evangelist who died in early December. Throughout Bonnke’s career, he promoted Pentecostal and prosperity teaching across the African continent and around the world. Some have referred to him as “the greatest evangelist since the Apostle Paul,” claiming he was responsible for 79 million conversions worldwide. This highlights the prominence and presence of global Pentecostalism. Africa has about one billion people on the continent, about half of which are professing Christians—with about half of those claiming some form of Pentecostalism. In 1970, there were an estimated 60 million Pentecostals worldwide. This number is projected to be 1100% greater in 2020: about 770 million Pentecostals globally. Under the Pentecostal umbrella, one finds traditional Pentecostals like the Assemblies of God, Charismatics, new Pentecostals, prosperity gospelers, and Africa Initiated Churches. While there is not a clear set of Pentecostal tenets to which all of these groups adhere, there are common themes that they hold. Chief among these is the prominence of the Holy Spirit’s power for life and ministry. Additional emphases include tongues, the continuing gift of prophecy, faith healing, and the like. The problem is that many Pentecostals are promoting a false version of Christianity, especially with the emphasis on the prosperity gospel. Africa, as a generally poor 2/3 world area, is highly susceptible to this pernicious error. My workshop will try to show how global Pentecostalism is impacting the modern mission/church planting efforts.

Other workshops include a session on business as missions, the role of single women in the mission field, working with ethnic groups who have moved among us to the USA, and working with Muslims. While many of these workshops are not directly related to church planting, they contribute to the work of missions and should be aimed at facilitating church planting movements in countries where the missionaries minister.

A number of students from colleges and seminaries, including some from the Twin Cities and Central, are at the conference. There is good excitement for the meetings and real interest among those in attendance. I met a high school senior tonight who is from the area and is considering enrolling in Bob Jones next year, eventually planning to go to Cambodia as a missionary. I am glad to see that kind of missions interest. While the conference is modest in size, there is a good representation of interested young people. I am reminded of the importance of reaching the right person at the right time. Remember the story of Edward Kimball, the Chicago shoe salesman who influenced Dwight L Moody with the gospel? Who knows whether the next great missionary evangelist is among us this week.

We need to continue to challenge our churches to promote missions among our youth and to support missions heavily in our church’s budgets. We simply cannot give too much to missions, either by way of personnel or funds. Churches who make missions going and giving a top priority tend to be stronger, more vibrant churches.

I was encouraged to think about global missions while a student and God used my student years to ultimately direct me toward a lifetime of Christian service. When I entered Bible school, I had no clear direction, but Mission Prayer Band and a couple of summer mission teams helped open my eyes to the needs of the world. While I am not a career missionary as such (God having providentially redirected my life through a family medical need), I still have the privilege of being involved in missions through overseas teaching, teaching missions at Central, and encouraging my students to consider global missions.

I trust the Lord will use AtG this week in the lives of a number of young people (and maybe some older people) to place their futures at the Lord’s disposal to bear the goodness around the world. Thank you Tim Barr and the rest of the AtG team for this conference, and thanks to the good people of Tri-City for hosting this meeting. SDG!

This essay is by Jeff Straub, Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Great God! The Nations of the Earth

Thomas Gibbons (1720–1785)

Great God! the nations of the earth
Are by creation thine;
And in thy works, by all beheld,
Thy radiant glories shine.

But, Lord! thy greater love has sent
Thy gospel to mankind,
Unveiling what rich stores of grace
Are treasured in thy mind.

Lord! when shall these glad tidings spread
The spacious earth around,
Till every tribe and every soul
Shall hear the joyful sound?

Smile, Lord, on each divine attempt
To spread the gospel’s rays,
And build on sin’s demolished throne
The temples of thy grace.

The conception of Jesus Christ and His birth in the manger were events that occurred in history, but they pertained to a person whose life came from outside history. The events represent the point at which an eternal person became Jesus. He already was, but in the conception and birth He began His human residence upon earth. This is the great mystery of Christmas.

From all eternity Christ Jesus existed in the form of God (Phil 2:6). This form (morphe) was an outer appearance that corresponded to an inner reality. Jesus Christ really was God, and because He was God His existence displayed all the splendor of the divine glory. For example, Isaiah saw Adonai sitting on a throne high and lifted up (Isa 6:1). The prophet was astonished at the divine splendor and declared that he had seen Yahweh with his own eyes (Isa 6:5). John states in his gospel that on this occasion Isaiah was looking at the pre-incarnate glory of Jesus (John 12:41).

In eternity past, Jesus was visibly and obviously equal with God (Phil 2:6). Nevertheless, He did not consider this visible equality as a thing to be selfishly grasped. In His incarnation and humiliation He could not and did not stop being God, but He did have to lay aside His robes of splendor. He would later call upon His followers to exercise self-denial (Matt 16:24). He earned the right to make this demand by modeling His own version of self-denial, a version that required Him to make a greater sacrifice than He will ever ask of anyone else.

So profound was this divestment of glory that Paul says He “emptied Himself” (Phil 2:7). Theologians have notoriously quibbled over what this self-emptying entailed, but Paul spares his readers from speculation. The apostle explains Jesus’ “kenosis” or emptying in two ways.

First, he states that Jesus received the form of a slave. In other words, during His humiliation Christ voluntarily placed Himself under obedience to His Father. The author of Hebrews has Christ saying, “Lo, I come to do thy will, O God” (Heb 10:7). In the incarnation He would learn obedience as a Son (Heb 5:8). Accomplishing His Father’s will was Christ’s whole purpose in the incarnation. He placed Himself entirely at His Father’s disposal.

Second, Paul says that Jesus “came to be” in human likeness (Phil 2:7). Here Paul uses the verb for becoming, but he does not say that the person of Jesus came to be. Rather, without ceasing to be God, this eternal person added to His deity a complete and sinless human nature. Though He already was, he now became a human being, genuinely and fully.

So the self-emptying of Jesus consists, first, in His willingness to subject Himself as a slave to His father, and second, in His assuming the same nature as those to whom He was sent. Consequently, His outward appearance was strictly human (Phil 5:8). Simply looking at Him, no one would have guessed that He was anything more than a human being. He looked like any other guy. His identification with the human race was complete.

When Jesus entered the human race He became subject to all of its natural weaknesses and liabilities, including mortality. His liability to death was essential to His mission. By fear of death, humans were slaves of the devil, who held the power of death (Heb 2:14-15). For the relatively brief period of His humiliation, Christ was made lower than the angels and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross (Heb 2:9, Phil 2:8). By suffering death He wrenched the power of death away from the devil and made propitiation for the sins of the people (Heb 2:14-17).

That Christ should experience death is astonishing; that He should endure the death of the cross is appalling. Death by crucifixion was violence rendered in the name of justice. It made examples of the worst sort of renegades and criminals. Crucifixion was so agonizing that the word excruciating is still used to describe the severest pain imaginable. Crucifixion was so degrading that the word for cross was an obscenity in the Roman world. To endure the cross was to be shamed and vilified. Christ suffered this humiliation, not for any fault of His own, but for our sins.

Christ could not die for our sins if He could not die. He could not die unless He became mortal. He could not be mortal if He were not human. He could only become human by virtue of His incarnation. In His incarnation He not only became subject to death, but to all human weakness and testing (apart from sin). His suffering equips Him to understand our experience because He, too, has experienced it. He merits our reverence, our gratitude, and, most importantly, our trust.

Of course Christ’s death was not the end of His life. God raised Him up, highly exalted Him, and gave Him a name which is above every name. Someday every knee will bow before Him. Someday every tongue will confess that He is Lord (Phil 2:9-10). To His eternal, divine splendor Christ has added the glory of a sinless, obedient, and perfected humanity. His exaltation, however, came after His humiliation. To gain the joy of glory He first had to endure the cross and to despise its shame (Heb 12:2).

Christmas is a season for remembering the incarnation of Christ. The incarnation was first and foremost a self-humbling, a self-emptying, and a self-denying. The Lord Jesus embraced this demonstration of God’s love, not for the sake of good or righteous people, but for us while we were yet sinners (Rom 5:6‑8). Before He redeemed us, we had already rejected Him.

Here is the true spirit of Christmas. Paul tells us that we are to think like Jesus thought. We are to adopt His mindset (Phil 2:5). If so, then Christmas is about denying ourselves, refusing to insist upon the privileges to which we may have a right. Christmas is about emptying ourselves, submitting to God, and identifying with those who need Him. Christmas is about humbling ourselves and sacrificing in behalf of those who still reject what is good and true and beautiful. Christmas is about doing all of this because sin has twisted and distorted people who must someday stand before God, and the gospel has the power to cleanse them and to transform them into the very image of Christ Himself.

We live in a world filled with greed, arrogance, and ambition. Christmas reminds us that we who have trusted Christ need to be different because He was different, and He wants to make a difference through us. Christmas is about refusing to capitulate to the attitudes of our age, but instead identifying with Christ by putting His mind on display. That is the Christmas that we need to live both during this season and throughout the entire year.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Hark, the Glad Sound! The Savior Comes

Phillip Doddridge (1702–1751)

Hark, the glad sound! The Savior comes, 
the Savior promised long! 
Let ev’ry heart prepare a throne, 
and ev’ry voice a song.

He comes the pris’ners to release, 
in Satan’s bondage held; 
the gates of brass before Him burst, 
the iron fetters yield.

He comes the broken heart to bind, 
the bleeding soul to cure, 
and with the treasures of His grace 
t’enrich the humbled poor.

Our glad Hosannas, Prince of Peace, 
Thy welcome shall proclaim;
and heav’n’s eternal arches ring 
with Thy beloved Name.

Last week we explored the concept of Jesus Christ as the God-man. We learned that He is one person in two natures. Each nature is complete, possessing all the essential properties of that nature. The properties of each nature communicate to the person but not to the other nature. Consequently, paradoxical statements may be applied to the person in view of the two natures. The babe in the manger was omnipotent according to His divine nature but weak according to His human nature. He was omniscient according to His divine nature but able to learn according to His human nature. He was omnipresent according to His divine nature but spatially localized according to His human nature.

Most puzzling of all, we saw that the person can be designated by the names of one nature while acting according to the properties of the other. Hebrews 13:8 states that Jesus (His human name) is immutable (a divine property). Matthew 1:23 names Him Immanuel (God with us, a divine name) while speaking of His gestation and birth (human processes). In Acts 20:28, Paul, referring to Christ, says that God (a divine name) purchased the church with His own blood (a human property).

If pressed, we will want to limit and qualify these descriptions. We are eager to avoid misunderstandings, such as the conclusion that the divine nature could be tempted or that the human nature is eternal. We know that if we go an inch too far in our affirmations, we shall precipitate ourselves into heresy. The problem is that if we stop an inch short we shall also plunge into heresy. What we affirm with clarifications and qualifications we must never deny.

Beginning with His incarnation, the acts of Jesus Christ were all done by the one person. Neither His divine nature nor His human nature ever acted separately from His person. Everything He did must be ascribed to His person, which is both divine and human. Whatever was done according to the human nature was nevertheless done by the divine person, and vice versa.

This joining of two natures in one person is called the hypostatic union. On the scale of doctrinal importance, the hypostatic union stands right at the top. It is essential to the gospel and to the Christian faith. To deny it is to deny Christianity itself. It is a fundamental of the faith.

Like other fundamentals, the hypostatic union can function as a theological paradigm. In other words, we can use it to discern what answers we should give when asked unanticipated questions. In this case, two examples will illustrate the kind of applications we might make.

The first involves a controversy over an ancient heresy called Nestorianism. The Nestorians became concerned about a cute devotional phrase that was coming into vogue. People were beginning to refer to Mary as Mother of God. The Nestorians objected that Mary was the mother only of the human nature of Christ, suggesting that the divine nature simply passed through her. The result of this move, however, was to divide the person of Christ and to view each nature as a distinct person. Jesus Christ was no longer one person but a divine person and a distinct human person.

The correct perspective is that Mary was the mother, not simply of the human nature but of the person of Jesus according to His human nature. Yet the person is also a divine person who can be designated by divine names. To say that Mary was the mother of the person is to say that Mary was indeed the mother of God. In fact, Matthew 1:23 comes close to saying just that when it affirms that the Son, conceived and born of the virgin, would be named God with us.

Can the assertion that Mary is the mother of God be misunderstood? Certainly! Does it mean that Mary herself is somehow divine? Of course not! Should we clarify and qualify this affirmation? Absolutely! What we must not do, however, is to deny it.

We must take a similar tack with the question, “Who suffered for our sins? Was it God or was it a human?” To frame the question in that way creates a false dichotomy—one that runs contrary to everything we have seen about the one person and two natures of Christ.

A nature did not suffer for our sins. A nature did not die on the cross. A person did. The Lord Jesus Christ did.

Granted, the Lord Jesus suffered and died according to His human nature. Deity cannot suffer. Deity cannot die. Nevertheless, the person who suffered and died was the God-man. Even though He suffered and died according to His human nature, He did not divest His person of deity while suffering and dying.

As we have seen, the epithets of one nature can be applied to the person, even while the person is acting according to the other nature. The Jesus who suffered and died according to His human nature is the same Jesus who is God. Consequently, it is correct to say that God suffered for our sins and died on the cross.

Can that assertion be misunderstood? Certainly! Does it mean that Christ’s divine nature experienced mortality? Of course not! Should we clarify and qualify this affirmation? Absolutely! What we must not do, however, is to deny it. No amount of clarification can redeem a denial.

In this case, the fact that God suffered for our sins and died on the cross is very important. The divine person of Christ (not the divine nature) has experienced suffering and death. This experience could take place because of the hypostatic union. But the hypostatic union has never been dissolved, and it never will be. The Christ who is presently seated on His Father’s right hand is the same divine-human person who “learned…obedience by the things which he suffered” (Heb 5:8). Only in this way could He become the “author of eternal salvation unto all them that obey Him” (Heb 5:9).

Furthermore, the fact that Christ has experienced weakness and suffering is critical to His high priesthood. Like the Old Testament high priests, He can have compassion on the ignorant and wayward because He Himself has worn weakness (Heb 5:2). While He never sinned, He understands how and why we do, and He understands this because He had to offer up prayers and supplications with strong crying and tears (Heb 5:7). He did these things according to His human nature, but He did them as the God-man.

A divine person understands our hurts because He has borne hurt. A divine person understands our temptations because He has endured temptation. The hypostatic union gives us a merciful and faithful high priest who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities. He invites us to come boldly to the throne of grace, and He promises mercy and grace to help in our time of need (Heb 4:14-16).

How is the hypostatic union possible? That is what the incarnation is for. That is what Christmas is about. God became one of us, pain and all.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

O Thou Thro’ Suffering Perfect Made

William Walsham How (1823–1897)

O Thou thro’ suffering perfect made,
On Whom the bitter cross was laid;
In hours of sickness, grief, and pain,
No sufferer turns to Thee in vain.

The halt, the maimed, the sick, the blind,
Sought not in vain Thy tendance kind;
Now in Thy poor Thyself we see,
And minister through them to Thee.

O loving Saviour, Thou canst cure
The pains and woes Thou didst endure;
For all who need, Physician great,
Thy healing balm we supplicate.

But, oh, far more, let each keen pain
And hour of woe be heavenly gain,
Each stroke of Thy chastising rod
Bring back the wanderer nearer God.

Oh, heal the bruisèd heart within!
Oh, save our souls all sick with sin!
Give life and health in bounteous store,
That we may praise Thee evermore!

The incarnation of Jesus Christ brings with it certain mysteries that defy complete description. When we speak of them we step to the brink of an abyss, and if we creep so much as a hair further we risk precipitating ourselves into heresy. When we speak of Christ, we know both that we must say some things and that we must not say others. Learning how much to say and when to stop speaking is part of orthodoxy.

We must say that Jesus Christ is a person. He is one and only one person. He is an eternal person. He is a divine person. He is the second person of the Godhead, one in essence with the Father from all ages, equal with Him in power and glory, yet distinct from Him in personhood.

We must further say that in the incarnation, Jesus Christ added to His eternal, divine person a complete human nature. From the moment of His conception, He was and is a genuine human being. He has never lacked anything essential to humanity. Within the one person, Christ’s deity has never substituted for any aspect of His humanity.

By virtue of His incarnation, Jesus Christ became the God-man. He possesses complete divine and human natures, but He is not a mixture of the two. If we confound or confuse His deity and His humanity, then we have stepped over the edge into heresy.

At the same time, Jesus Christ remains one person. He is not a divine person and a human person. He is one, divine-human person. Just as we must not combine His divine and human natures, we must not divide His person.

During the years of His earthly ministry—His humiliation—Jesus acted as one person. He thought as one person. He spoke as one person. Nevertheless, certain of His thoughts, words, and deeds were possible only because of His deity, while others of His thoughts, words, and deeds were possible only because of His humanity.

Consequently, we must say that when Jesus did certain things, He did them according to either His divine or His human nature. The properties of each nature communicate to the person—though they do not communicate to the other nature. When we use these words, we do not mean that the nature acted. He—the person, Jesus Christ, acted. But He acted according to one nature or the other.

This language leads us into paradox, for what was true of the person of Jesus according to one nature was sometimes the opposite of what is true according to the other nature. In the manger of Bethlehem the person Jesus Christ was omnipotent according to His divine nature, but literally as weak as a baby according to His human nature—indeed, He was a baby according to His human nature. He was omniscient according to His divine nature, but as He matured He increased in knowledge according to His human nature. He was omnipresent according to His divine nature, but spatially limited and locally present according to His human nature. He was eternal according to His divine nature, but He endured hours, days, and years according to His human nature.

Because Jesus Christ is one and only one person, He can be named with either divine or human epithets. He is rightly called Lord, which is a divine title. He is also rightly called Jesus, which is the human name that was assigned to Him at the incarnation. He deserves labels of both sorts because the person, and not only a nature, is God, just as the person, and not only a nature, is human.

Here is the point at which we encounter one of the strangest phenomena in Scripture. Sometimes the biblical writers speak of the person of Jesus under an epithet that applies to one nature but they focus upon properties that He possesses according to the other nature. Many examples of this phenomenon occur in the Bible. I choose three to illustrate it here.

The book of Hebrews says that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Heb 13:8). To be the same yesterday, today, and forever is to be immutable, and immutability is an attribute of deity. Jesus Christ is immutable according to His divine nature. Yet Jesus is His earthly, human name, received at His incarnation. In other words, Hebrews 13:8 is telling us that a human is immutable. The instant we say such a thing, we recognize that we stand on the brink of heresy. We immediately wish to hedge in such a statement with all sorts of qualifications and clarifications. The one thing that we must not do, however, is to deny that Christ Jesus, who is a human, was and is immutable.

The opposite phenomenon occurs in Matthew 1:23. Here, Matthew quotes Isaiah’s prophecy that a virgin is going to become pregnant and bear a son. Gestation and birth are aspects of Christ’s humanity—He grew in His mother’s womb and was born according to His human nature. Yet Isaiah foretells (and Matthew quotes) that His name will be Immanuel which, these authors tell us, means God with us. That name applies to the divine nature. In other words, Isaiah and Matthew are telling us that God was conceived and born. We have again come to the brink of heresy, and we again wish to hedge in that statement with all sorts of qualifications and clarifications. But we must not—WE MUST NOT—deny that God was conceived and born.

Addressing the Ephesian elders, Paul states that God purchased the church with His own blood (Acts 20:28). Clearly God in this verse refers to the Second Person, Jesus Christ, who is being designated by His divine title. The blood, however, is a property of His humanity. Christ shed His blood according to His human nature, but the nature did not bleed. The person, Jesus Christ, shed His blood, and this person is also God. Paul says that God possessed blood. We may cringe at the ways in which that statement has been misunderstood. We may wish to qualify it and clarify it. But we must not—WE MUST NOT—deny it, for if the divine-human person did not shed His blood, we are lost in our sins.

Christ is one person in two natures. Each nature is complete, possessing all the essential properties of that nature. The properties of each nature communicate to the person, but they do not communicate to the other nature. Nevertheless, the person can be designated by labels applying to one nature while acting according to properties communicated from the other nature. All of this is difficult theology. It is hard to understand. When we speak of these matters we are at the very limits of human understanding. Some may question the relevance of such abstruse precision.

This discussion is necessary, however, because the incarnation of Christ tells us something about the nature of suffering. Who or what suffered during Christ’s humiliation? Does the answer to this question even matter? That is the point at which I intend to pick up this conversation in two weeks.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Mortals, Awake, With Angels Join
Samuel Medley (1738–1799)

Mortals, awake, with angels join,
And chant the solemn lay;
Joy, love, and gratitude combine
To hail the auspicious day.

In heaven the rapturous song began,
And sweet seraphic fire
Through all the shining legions ran,
And strung and tuned the lyre.

Swift through the vast expanse it flew,
And loud the echo rolled;
The theme, the song, the joy, was new—
’Twas more than heaven could hold.

Down through the portals of the sky
The impetuous torrent ran;
And angels flew, with eager joy,
To bear the news to man.

With joy the chorus we repeat,—
Glory to God on high!
Good-will and peace are now complete—
Jesus was born to die.

Hail, Prince of life, forever hail!
Redeemer, Brother, Friend!
Though earth, and time, and life shall fail,
Thy praise shall never end.

Hark! the cherubic armies shout,
And glory leads the song:
Good-will and peace are heard throughout
The harmonious heavenly throng.

We face a kind of paradox in doing the Lord’s work. On the one hand, God often places us in positions that require us to overcome obstacles. As we depend upon Him, these circumstances require determination, persistence, and courage if we are to succeed. In fact, God often uses difficulties to develop exactly those qualities in us.

On the other hand, God also leads through circumstances. If we ignore His leading, our determination becomes defiance, our persistence degenerates into obstinacy, and our courage turns into the worst sort of self-reliance. Consequently, we must develop a capacity for judging when God is using circumstances to test us and when He is using circumstances to change our direction.

If we are headed in a direction that we know to contradict His will, we can expect our circumstances to become painful. That was certainly Jonah’s experience as he fled to Tarshish. He was trying to evade God’s will by escaping from the presence of the Lord. The Lord pursued him into the hold of the ship, then into the sea, then into the maw of the monster that He had prepared.

In the creature’s belly Jonah recognized that he might as well be in Sheol. There the prophet humbled himself and submitted to God’s will. The world’s most reluctant prophet, he went on to complete a mission that he was never happy about.

God sent the storm. God prepared the sea-creature. In one sense, these calamities represented God’s chastening. At the same time, however, the sovereign Lord meant them to change Jonah’s direction. God used both the storm and the leviathan to lead His prophet.

It would be a mistake to think that God only uses hard circumstances to direct us away from disobedience. God repeatedly used affliction to stop the apostle Paul from doing one good thing and start him doing another. Paul was actively ministering in Philippi when God used a beating and imprisonment to send him down the road to Thessalonica. At Thessalonica a riot and the arrest of a colleague induced the brethren to hustle Paul out of town; he went to Berea. More public agitation prompted brothers from Berea to escort Paul into Athens. In Philippi, Thessalonica, and Berea, Paul was experiencing effective ministry. He led souls to Christ and planted churches. He left none of these churches willingly. God used harsh events to lead Paul from one good thing to the next.

Paul certainly did not plan to be arrested in Jerusalem and spend years in jail in Cesarea, only to be shipwrecked on the way to Rome so that he could remain in prison while awaiting Nero’s pleasure. Yet these were exactly the events that God used to open a door for ministry among the Praetorian Guard, to provide occasion for Paul’s prison epistles, and to give Paul an audience before the most powerful ruler in the world. God sent circumstances to Paul that were not pleasant, but those circumstances opened opportunities that he would never otherwise have encountered.

We do not need to wonder how Paul felt about all this upheaval. He himself tells us in Philippians 1:12-20. He embraced his troubles, he rejoiced in the opposition of devious brethren, and he even faced the prospect of death with equanimity. These verses are worth reading over and over again. They are like a lamp when we enter the dark forest of affliction. They can give us hope and light.

We will need them. God will use affliction to direct us, just as he did with Jonah and just as He did with Paul. He may lead us into illness, poverty, betrayal, bereavement, or any of a hundred other calamities, and He will do it to put us somewhere we would not otherwise have gone or to provide us with a platform for some ministry that we would never otherwise have chosen. Paul’s prison cell became his pulpit. Our pulpit may be a hospital bed, a funeral, or a foreclosure. We do not know the form it will take, but we do know that affliction is on the way.

When it arrives, we could immerse ourselves in self-pity. We could rail against God and others. We could demand explanations from the Almighty. We could hunker down in sullen resignation. Or we can look for the direction God is leading us and the opportunity that God is opening before us—because there will be one.

God does not waste afflictions on us. He never sends them without purpose. He intends to use them, and one of the things He sends them for is to direct us into paths that we would not otherwise have traveled. His ultimate goal is to use us and to bless us.

God will not waste our afflictions, and He expects us not to waste them, either. He places them before us as opportunities. Are you facing a complete financial reversal? Don’t waste your poverty. Have you been diagnosed with a terrible disease? Don’t waste your illness. Have you lost your job? Don’t waste your unemployment. Has your spouse abandoned you? Don’t waste your divorce. Has someone committed a crime against you? Don’t waste your victimization. Has a loved one died? Don’t waste your bereavement.

These are terrible things, but God permits terrible things in the lives of His children, then He uses them for good. He uses calamities like these to direct us into places where He wants us, but where we would not choose to go. He uses affliction to lead us, to guide us, and to make us useful to Him. Carpe Tribulationis.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Heavenly Father! To Whose Eye

Josiah Conder (1789–1855)

Heavenly Father! to whose eye
Future things unfolded lie;
Through the desert when I stray
Let Thy counsels guide my way.

Leave me not, for flesh is frail,
Where fierce trials would assail;
Leave me not in darkened hour,
To withstand the tempter’s power.

Lord! uphold me day by day;
Shed a light upon my way;
Guide me through perplexing snares;
Care for me in all my cares.

Should Thy wisdom, Lord, decree
Trials long and sharp for me,
Pain, or sorrow, care or shame,—
Father! glorify Thy name.

Let me neither faint nor fear,
Feeling still that Thou art near;
In the course my Saviour trod,
Tending home to Thee, my God.

We must beware of mixing the metaphors that God uses to teach us about salvation. For example, the work of salvation can be viewed under the metaphor of a courtroom in which the guilty sinner stands before God as judge. In this metaphor, God charges the believing sinner’s guilt to Christ, who bears its penalty on His cross. God also credits the righteousness of Christ to the believing sinner and, on the basis of this imputed righteousness, justifies the sinner (declares the sinner to be righteous). The justified sinner is now free of offense toward God and cannot possibly come under God’s judicial wrath. All sins—past, present, and future—have been fully forgiven. The believing sinner is now accepted in the Beloved (Eph 1:6) and seated in heavenly places with Christ Jesus (Eph 2:6).

The courtroom metaphor provides a powerful and glorious picture of the salvation God applies to His people. Magnificent as it is, however, it is only one of several metaphors, and it must not be pressed beyond its limits. How might that happen? I can give an example.

Years ago a man began to visit the church that I was pastoring. He began privately to teach our people that since believers are accepted in the Beloved, God could never be displeased with them in any sense. Since every sin had already been dealt with at the cross, believers never needed to take any other action when they sinned. Specifically, they did not need to confess the sins that they committed during their day-by-day walk. This would-be teacher claimed that all “confession” passages (like 1 Jn 1:9) must be addressing unbelievers. Furthermore, God could never chasten believers for sins committed after salvation. These sins were already forgiven, chastening was a form of punishment, and God would never punish believers whose sins were already forgiven.

I asked this self-appointed teacher to explain 1 Corinthians 11, where Paul tells believers to examine themselves so as to avoid judgment. In that passage Paul specifies that “for this cause many are weak and sickly among you, and many sleep” (1 Cor 11:20). I’ll never forget how the visiting teacher responded that the weakness and sickness were natural consequences of the poor diet in which the Corinthians were indulging, and that their sleep occurred when, overcome by lethargy after their heavy meal, they dozed off during the sermon.

This unnatural exegesis resulted from trying to overlap the courtroom metaphor onto the doctrine of chastening. The problem is that chastening has no place in the courtroom, which is about guilt or innocence, condemnation or justification. Instead, the notion of chastening arises from an entirely different trope: the metaphor of a family relationship between father and child. Fathers chasten their children, not to condemn them for their guilt, but to correct them so that they do not continue to repeat the same errors.

The author of Hebrews clearly teaches that God chastens His children in exactly this way. The writer deliberately draws the analogy between divine chastening and human parental child-training (Heb 12:9-10). All who are genuinely God’s sons can expect to receive this kind of chastening (Heb 12:8). While it may be painful (Heb 12:11), it is for the good of the one being chastened and will produce holiness and the “peaceable fruit of righteousness” (Heb 12:10-11), or sanctification. Several observations will help to clarify the doctrine of chastening as it is taught in Hebrews 12, 1 Corinthians 11, and other passages.

First, chastening is painful. God chastens us by permitting afflictions of various sorts. We would never choose these afflictions. Viewed in themselves they are calamities, and the calamities may be severe.

Second, we infer that calamity (in the form of chastening) may sometimes be the result of sin in our lives. God sends this calamity to correct us for sins that we have committed or are still committing. His purpose is to take those sins out of our lives and to bring us to Him as obedient children.

Third, chastening might not only be a result of sins that we have committed or are committing. Rather, it may be sent as a shield against sins that we would otherwise be tempted to commit. In other words, chastening may not always indicate that we are “in trouble” with God. Its purpose may be to keep us out of trouble.

Fourth, affliction might lead us to examine our lives for unaddressed sin. Such self-examination is probably the point of James 5:14-16. The severely or chronically ill may suspect that their illness could be divine chastening. If so, then they should call for the elders of the church to assist in the process of self-examination. Sins that are discovered during this process can be confessed in faith. These prayers of confession should be reinforced by prayers for the one doing the confessing. Such prayers of faith are efficacious for relieving the affliction that results from chastening. The anointing with oil, if administered, is not done for its sacramental or medicinal value, but as a symbol of God’s blessing of and activity in the process of examination, recognition, and confession of sins.

Fifth, if divine chastening is ignored it may grow more severe. Indeed, 1 Corinthians 11:20 indicates that at some point God will actually take the lives of believers who persist in sin. Probably this is the “sin unto death” that John discusses (1 Jn 5:16-17). Some think that this extreme measure of chastening might also be in view in Romans 8:13. Furthermore, while there is little agreement about the warning passages of Hebrews, I am inclined to think that divine chastening is the theme of all of them. If so, then Hebrews 10:26-31 also includes chastening to the point of physical death.

Sixth, God always intends chastening to produce less sin in our lives. Even chastening that causes some to “sleep” is designed to keep believers from doing things that could bring their faith into greater disrepute. It is always for the good of the one being chastened; consequently, it is always a manifestation of God’s love. It may also be a manifestation of God’s parental anger (and in that sense a judgment—1 Cor 11:29), but parental anger is grounded in love rather than justice and is a different thing from judicial wrath. Chastening always shows God’s love, never His wrath.

How should we respond to chastening? We must never despise or make light of it (Heb 12:5). Rather, we should endure it patiently (Heb 12:7). We should subject ourselves to the Father of our spirits so that we may live (Heb 12:9). In other words, we should deal with whatever sin we find in our lives. Rather than growing discouraged, we should take heart and press on toward holiness (Heb 12:12-14). Above all, we must never let bitterness take root (Heb 12:15). When we are being chastened, God is dealing with us as His sons and the result will be good.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

’Tis My Happiness Below

William Cowper (1731–1800)

’Tis my happiness below
Not to live without the cross;
But the Savior’s pow’r to know,
Sanctifying every loss:
Trials must and will befall;
But with humble faith to see
Love inscrib’d upon them all.
This is happiness to me.

God in Israel sows the seeds,
Of afflictions, pain and toil;
These spring up, and choke the weeds,
Which would else o’erspread the soil;
Trials make the promise sweet,
Trials give new life to pray’r;
Trials bring me to his feet,
Lay me low, and keep me there.

Did I meet no trials here,
No chastisement by the way;
Might I not, with reason fear,
I should be a cast away:
Bastards may escape the rod,
Sunk in earthly vain delight;
But the true born son of God,
Must not, would not, if he might.

Words are powerful things. Proverbs 18:21 reminds us that death and life are in the power of the tongue. Our words can produce negative effects (“rash words are like sword thrusts” – Prov 12:18) and positive ones (“gracious words are like a honeycomb” – Prov 16:24). Yet James 3:1–12 shows that we Christians will more likely face the negative outcomes of what we say than the positive fruit of well-disciplined tongues.

This reality has been on display in the last two weeks while observing the firestorm created by a few poorly chosen words uttered at the recent “Truth Matters” conference hosted by Grace to You and Grace Community Church in southern California. This event celebrated the 50th anniversary of John MacArthur’s pulpit ministry, with the “Sufficiency of Scripture” as its theme.

The words I am referring to were not spoken during one of the main preaching sessions. Rather, in a short 7½ minute time span during some Q & A banter led by Todd Friel of Wretched Radio fame, John MacArthur told Beth Moore to “Go home!”; Phil Johnson declared Moore’s preaching/teaching to be “narcissistic”; and MacArthur implied that Latinos, African Americans, and women do not know biblical Hebrew and Greek well enough to participate on Bible translation committees.

I would like to unpack the context behind each of these statements and then provide some observations about what was said. My goal in this is not to act as a judge either of the motives or of the righteousness of the behavior of the individuals involved; only our omniscient and holy God is capable of this. Rather I am writing as a commentator on the wisdom and value of this particular use of words at this public event. And I would like to ask whether there is a better way to defend and propagate our highly valued theological positions. 

So what is the context out of which this Q & A session arose? Though John MacArthur and his church are not part of the Southern Baptist Convention, he and conservative evangelicalism in general have watched with great interest as the SBC debated and considered several controversial issues during its annual meeting in June. Two of these included: 1) the use of intersectionality and critical race theory as important tools for Bible interpretation, and 2) the permission of women to preach to both men and women. This latter point was particularly interesting since the SBC has formally adopted a complementarian position in its Baptist Faith and Message. And since controversies often swirl around specific individuals, Beth Moore, an oft-published author and Bible teacher, has become the poster child of this issue about women preachers ever since she delivered the Sunday morning sermon on Mother’s Day at the SBC church she attends.

With all of this in mind, Todd Friel chose to use a rather flippant method to generate a response from John MacArthur about the Beth Moore situation in the SBC. He suggested that he and the speakers on the platform with him play a word association game in which he would say a word and then receive a single word or “pithy response” to that word. So he began with “Beth Moore” and MacArthur’s response: “Go home!” The crowd of complementarian, male preachers gave rousing approval. When the video clip hit social media, the moral outrage and regurgitation of egalitarian arguments in defense of women preachers was predictable and abundant. And who can blame them? Writing from the perspective of a complementarian, my question to John MacArthur and the organizers of the “Truth Matters” conference is, “What were you hoping to accomplish with this little word association game?” I can think of at least four possibilities: 1) a good laugh from the conference attendees; 2) convincing young evangelical men and women to become complementarians; 3) causing fence-sitting egalitarians to adopt complementarian views on women preachers; and 4) embarrassing fellow complementarians who are currently engaged in this ongoing discussion in evangelicalism. Unfortunately, many of my fellow complementarians would say that the game resulted in producing numbers 1 and 4 while actually causing the opposite effect for numbers 2 and 3.

Shortly after the “Go home!” comment, Phil Johnson resorted to a bit of name-calling when he labeled Beth Moore as “narcissistic” in her preaching. His reason for using this language was because she has gone on record as saying that when she studies the Bible “she puts herself in the narrative.” This is quite a claim made by Mr. Johnson, especially in light of the fact that many hermeneutics texts would encourage the student of the Bible to enter into the narrative as a way of understanding its impact so that the major message of that narrative can be conveyed to the audience in preaching and teaching. I could be wrong in assuming the best behind Moore’s statement, but this is all we have to go on. Mr. Johnson never gives the context of the quotation nor does he give anything else to support the narcissistic label. If true, this is an astounding claim; if untrue, this is an unkind and unfruitful way of referring to someone else’s activity. As a complementarian I can think of many better words to describe Moore’s preaching to mixed audiences, e.g. unbiblical, unnecessary, unfortunate, unhelpful, confusing, etc. But “narcissistic” does not have a honeycomb feel.

As the conversation about women preachers continued, MacArthur pointed to the way that cultural views of egalitarian thinking have infiltrated the church and especially the SBC. As evidence of this, he pointed to a recent panel discussion of SBC leaders who suggested that all future Bible translation projects have at least one Latino, African-American, and woman involved. MacArthur’s assessment of such an idea? “Translation of the Bible? How about someone who knows Greek and Hebrew?” I realize that John MacArthur does not believe that there are no qualified Latino, African-American, or female scholars who could help translate the Bible. But he must also recognize how minority groups (and in this case women are minorities in the world of English Bible translation) would hear a statement like this. While public speakers can never completely nuance everything they say, they ought to be sensitive to our cultural moment and not give a foothold to unnecessary criticism by those who are already inclined to disagree.

Is there a better way to deal with the subject of women preachers and intersectionality and Bible interpretation? I think so. When talking to fellow believers who embrace the same gospel message (and thus denying that Jesus’s words to the religious rulers of His day and the apostles’ words to false teachers are models for us in regard to this present subject), we are called to use edifying speech that gives grace to the hearer (Eph 4:29), that is seasoned with salt (Col 4:6), and that is characterized by gentleness and respect (1 Pet 3:16). May God give us the wisdom, skill, and tact to use our words well. And in this present circumstance may we keep from giving opponents cause to question our mental capacities, compassion, gentleness, and biblically correct complementarian viewpoints.

This essay is by Jon Pratt, Vice President of Academics and Professor of New Testament at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Psalm 76

Henry Francis Lyte (1793–1847)

God in His church is known,
His name is glorious there;
He there sets up His earthly throne,
And hears His people’s prayer.

The powers of death and hell
In vain her peace oppose;
A word of His the storm can quell,
And scatter all her foes.

The Lord to judgment came;
Earth trembled and was still:
‘Tis His, ‘tis His the proud to tame,
And shield the meek from ill.

The fury of his foes
Fulfills but His decree:
Ye saints, on Him your hopes repose,
And He your strength will be.

In the movie classic “The Princess Bride,” Vizzini repeats the word “inconceivable!” again and again as the masked pursuer of him and his ruffians keeps gaining ground. Finally one of his cohorts, Inigo Montoya, proclaims, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” Indeed.

Have you ever felt this way when you see or hear any of these adjectives describing someone’s theological position? Evangelical, dispensational, reformed, complementarian, cessationist, Calvinistic, Arminian, baptistic, fundamentalist, charismatic. The truth is that we all formulate definitions when hearing words like these. Unfortunately like Vizzini, these definitions tend to be clear only to ourselves. While it is true that terms like complementarian and cessationist have meanings most would generally agree with, the rest of this group often constitute a minefield of confusion. For example, when Kevin Bauder writes extensively and precisely about the meaning of “fundamentalist,” we still hear a cacophony of disagreeing responses.

The same holds true for the other labels in this list. While I could spend a lot of space discussing each of these controversial terms, I would like to consider just one of them in this essay: Reformed. In discussing this adjective I hope to achieve two objectives. First, I desire to provide some helpful suggestions in regard to the larger discussion of author/speaker intent and reader/listener understanding. Second, because the “Reformed” label is so frequently misunderstood, I hope to provide a bit of clarification to clear the fog in much of our conversations and writing.

Perhaps it will be most helpful to consider the various words with which “Reformed” is joined. First, we have the denominational usage in which people are thinking of one of the several church groups whose names bear the “reformed” title. The largest of these include the Christian Reformed Church of America and the Reformed Church of America. These denominations are very similar to conservative Presbyterian denominations such as the Presbyterian Church of America.

Second, some describe seminaries with this term. This group of seminaries is not beholden to one particular denomination, but these graduate institutions would fully embrace the doctrines of grace, require the reading of Calvin’s Institutes in systematic theology courses, and wholeheartedly affirm the Westminster Catechism. Seminaries such as Westminster Theological Seminary, Reformed Theological Seminary, and Covenant Theological Seminary would fit here.

Third, “Reformed” often refers to a theological position. This is the place where the most confusion takes place. I like to divide advocates of reformed theology into the Reformed with a big “R” camp and the reformed with a little “r” group. Capital R theologians are strong believers in all five points of Calvinism (typically referred to as the doctrines of grace, including Total Depravity, Unconditional Election, Limited Atonement, Irresistible Grace, and Perseverance of the Saints), covenant theology (a hermeneutical approach to Scripture issuing in paedo-baptism and amillennialism), Calvin’s third use of the law (some take this to the extreme position of Theonomy and its resultant postmillennialism), and an ecclesiology that involves a distinction between ruling and teaching elders, coupled with a representative form of church government that extends above and beyond the individual congregation, is bounded by constitutional agreement, and focuses on agreed standards (e.g. Westminster standards for Presbyterians and the Three Forms of Unity for continental Reformed).

Small r theologians are usually comfortable using “reformed” to describe themselves with reference to soteriological aspects of the faith. Thus, they affirm the doctrines of grace (though some are uncomfortable with Limited Atonement, preferring to distinguish the sufficiency and efficiency of the application of Christ’s blood to unbelievers) and the reformed view of sanctification (as distinguished from a Wesleyan, Keswick, or Pentecostal perspective). But this group would share different perspectives on all the other aspects of big R theology. For example, we know of reformed Baptists, reformed dispensationalists, reformed premillennialists, and reformed congregationalists. By the same token we should avoid classifying a particular viewpoint on apologetics (e.g. presuppositionalism) or counseling philosophy (e.g. nouthetic counseling) as reformed simply because some famous advocates of these ideas are big R people.

So what shall we say about the Reformed label? I believe it will help to understand the context in which this term is used, whether denominational, educational, or theological. And in regard to its theological employment, understanding the big R and little r adoption of the term will help to provide clarification and caution when someone chooses to use this term to describe oneself or another.

Hopefully, this short and general treatment of “Reformed” helps us with the larger discussion of authorial intent and reader/hearer interpretation. Here are four summary statements:

1. When people use terms like those listed in the first paragraph, be sure to understand what they mean by their use of those terms. Avoid the temptation to foist one’s own interpretive grid onto the other person’s choice of words. Remember that you cannot say, “I agree,” or “I disagree” before you can say, “I understand.”
2. Whenever we use terms like those listed in the first paragraph, be sure to know your audience and to nuance your meaning. Do this in such a way that your hearers and readers understand those descriptors in the same way as you do.
3. Realize that disagreement does not necessarily constitute misunderstanding. I may use a label in a particular way and someone else may disagree with my usage, but this does not need to mean that they have not understood how I was using that term. They may simply see things differently.
4. How do we make sure we understand? Whenever possible, a) ask clarifying questions (e.g. what do you mean when you say “dispensational?”); and b) state in your own words what you think the other person means and then confirm with that person that you have interpreted their language correctly (this is easy to do when having a conversation with someone but more difficult when trying to understand something written—in these cases one should seek to interact with the author in some way).

Is it inconceivable that fallen humans like ourselves can use labels accurately in such a way that both speaker and hearer can agree on their meaning? I don’t think so. By God’s grace we will speak and write using words that can be understood by those who hear and read.

This essay is by Jon Pratt, Vice President of Academics and Professor of New Testament at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Sovereign Ruler of the Skies

John Ryland (1753–1825)

Sovereign Ruler of the skies,
Ever gracious, ever wise!
All my times are in Thy hand,
All events at Thy command.

Thou didst form me in the womb;
Thou wilt guide me to the tomb:
All my times shall ever be
Ordered by Thy wise decree.

Times of sickness, times of health;
Times of penury and wealth;
Times of trial and of grief;
Times of triumph and relief:

Times the tempter’s power to prove,
Times to taste a Saviour’s Love:
All must come, endure and end,
As shall please my heavenly Friend.

O Thou gracious, wise, and just!
Unto Thee my life I trust;
Know that Thou art God alone;
I and mine are all Thine own.

Thee at all times will I bless:
Having Thee, I all possess.
How can I bereavéd be,
Since I cannot part with Thee?

My previous essay briefly introduced the limits of scientific knowledge and the rise of Scientism, the modernistic belief that science is superior to other disciplines. Unlike knowledge that deals with intangibles such as religion and philosophy, hard science, we are told, deals in the realm of the observable and measurable and is therefore best suited to answer life’s most pressing questions. This belief is so pervasive that according to a recent Pew Research Study (8/2/19), Americans overwhelmingly trust scientists (86%) over other major professions, including religious leaders (57%). The majority of this surety arises from three foundational aspects of Scientism: the separation of science from philosophy, the development of the scientific method, and the idea of scientific progress.

Most school children are taught that the Enlightenment was a time in which science finally shook off the fetters of the church and archaic superstition. Copernicus and Galileo are lauded among the myriad of intellectual martyrs as they tried to distinguish science from philosophical and theological presumptions—the David of facts and evidence pitted against the Goliath of faith and philosophy. Even a cursory examination of the giants of the Enlightenment, however, reveal that science and philosophy were never considered so distinct. For most of the Enlightenment, what is now called science was referred to as “natural philosophy.” Great thinkers understood that their observations were founded upon particular philosophical (or even theological) assumptions.

One notable example was the German astronomer Johannes Kepler (1571–1630). Kepler is best known for his defense of heliocentricity in Astronomia Nova (1609) and his laws of planetary motion, outlined in Harmonices Mundi (1619). His work became the basis for much of modern physics and even laid the groundwork for Newton’s gravitational theory. While Kepler was an extraordinary scientist, his training and heart were in philosophy. In a letter to a friend written in 1619, the great mathematician begged “[do] not condemn me to the treadmill of mathematical calculations; allow me time for philosophical speculation, my only delight!” 

In fact, many of Kepler’s ideas about motion are the result of his siding with Plato over Aristotle in an age-old philosophical debate. Aristotle believed that there was a disharmony between what is perceived by thought and sight and that which is tacitly known by the intellect. Since knowledge that came from sight did not rightly reflect the universals, observation could not be trusted to necessarily correspond to reality.

Kepler vehemently disagreed, though not because of the reason some may assume. Adding a theological element, Kepler felt that reality is sourced in the mind of God and imprinted upon humanity through the imago Dei. These divine truths, or archetypes, were available to the human mind and corresponded directly to the nature of things. Observations, theories, and hypotheses could all be tested and trusted precisely because the order of the universe corresponds necessarily with its Creator. Kepler even said, “Geometry, which before the origin of things was coeternal with the divine mind and is God himself…supplied God with patterns for the creation of the world, and passed over to Man along with the image of God; and was not in fact taken in through the eyes” (HM, 304). In other words, geometry and other logical ideals are inherently recognized not because they can be observed but because they are categories in the mind of God that are demonstrated in creation. Geometry can therefore act as an a priori rubric through which observations can be tested. Hypotheses and testing are not distinct from theology; they exist precisely because the Creator is innately known. 

The second aspect of Scientism is the belief that the scientific method is the purest way to knowledge and remains the foundation upon which the edifice of science stands, clearly separated from other epistemologies. This method (which is actually several methods) always employs some form of logical induction—the inference of a generalized conclusion from observation of specific things. Karl Popper (1902–1994) was an Austrian-born British philosopher and scientist who recognized that much of modern science “passes from singular statements, such as accounts of the results of observations or experiments, to universal statements, such as hypothesis or theories” (The Logic of Scientific Discovery 1959, 27). One might, for example, carefully and systematically examine swans and, after questioning and examining, theorize that swans are white. The logical problem, as Popper showed, is that no matter how many white swans are observed, it “does not justify the conclusion that all swans are white” (27). This, in fact, was the case in 15th century England when all swans observed and found in historical record were said to be white. The term “black swan” was a colloquialism to denote impossibility until Dutch explorers discovered black swans in western Australia. What is observed in the goose, it seems, is not necessarily true of the gander.

The third tenet of Scientism is scientific progress. Science is pictured along a historical spectrum with knowledge always increasing. Scientists in turn know more now than they did then. Revolutions, like the Enlightenment, are viewed as milestones in the steady march upwards. In his landmark book, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, Thomas Kuhn (1922–1996), long-time physicist and philosopher of science at Princeton and MIT, demonstrated that any notion of science as a progressive accumulation of knowledge is fanciful. He argued, rather, that science itself shifts when revolutions punctuate accepted assumptions. Most scientists in any given period of time operate within what Kuhn called “normal science,” the day-to-day science done from within an accepted paradigm (a set of assumptions about observations). This works well until something is observed that challenges the paradigm. Scientists then must seek to explain this observation by altering the philosophical assumptions about the phenomenon, a “paradigm shift.” Eventually, this will create a new paradigm in which scientists normally operate within the new assumptions. Kuhn said that “confronted with anomaly or with crisis, scientists tend to take a different attitude towards existing paradigms, and the nature of their research changes” (91). In other words, a change in paradigm is a change in the philosophical assumptions. Observations, then, follow accordingly. What is mistakenly seen as progress is actually new assumptions in looking at the same observations. Ptolemy challenged Aristotle, Galileo challenged Ptolemy, Newton challenged Galileo, Einstein challenged Newton, so on and so forth. What Scientism calls progress is simply various observations from a variety of philosophical assumptions.

Modern science is not incredible because it is somehow epistemologically pure or distinct from all other disciplines. It is incredible because it is inextricably connected to other disciplines. The scientific method, while valuable for data collection, is not able to interpret that data on its own. Facts never interpret themselves. It’s time for science to recognize that while seeking answers to questions of what, it can never delve into the questions of why. Discoveries are not simply a cumulation of knowledge but rather shifts in observation. Science cannot stand as an edifice alone for it stands squarely perched on the shoulders of philosophy and theology. It’s time for the hard sciences to stop being so hard-headed. It’s time for a little humility. It’s time for a softer, gentler science.

This essay is by Brett Williams, Provost and Executive Vice President at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Songs of Praise the Angels Sang

James Montgomery (1771–1854)

Songs of praise the angels sang;
Heaven with hallelujahs rang,
When Jehovah’s work begun,
When He spake and it was done.

Songs of praise awoke the morn,
When the Prince of Peace was born:
Songs of praise arose, when He
Captive led captivity.

Heaven and earth must pass away;
Songs of praise shall crown that day:
God will make new heavens, new earth;
Songs of praise shall hail their birth.

And shall man alone be dumb
Till that glorious kingdom come?
No: the Church delights to raise
Psalms, and hymns, and songs of praise.

Saints below, with heart and voice,
Still in songs of praise rejoice;
Learning here, by faith and love,
Songs of praise to sing above.

Borne upon their latest breath,
Songs of praise shall conquer death;
Then, amidst eternal joy,
Songs of praise their powers employ.

Science has become a proper noun. Its hegemony and authority are all but unrivaled. Sitting atop the pantheon of disciplines, it enjoys both prominence and preeminence. All other disciplines look up at it in awe and to it for guidance. If one needs proof of this dominance, one only has to look at the incredible achievements of the 20th century. The progress in that century was perhaps unparalleled in history. Take, for example, my great grandmother who died in the mid-1980’s at the age of 101. In her lifetime, man went from crashing into the sands of Kitty Hawk beach to taking that giant leap onto the Sea of Tranquility. Advancements in technology, medicine, and communication are so common place they have almost become mundane.

Science has even figured out a way to surpass philosophy and theology with those pesky conundrums like “from where did we come?” or “how did something come from nothing?” Biologist E.O. Wilson said, “We can be proud as a species because, having discovered that we are alone, we owe the gods very little.” So confident are we that we’ve answered life’s most pressing questions that the only thing lacking is the Grand Unified Theory. In fact, the late physicist Stephen Hawking, in searching for the GUT in order to explain a universe that can create itself, ended his landmark book A Brief History of Time by saying “it [GUT] would be the ultimate triumph of human reason— for then we would know the mind of God” (191). The proof of science’s dominance, it would seem, is in the pudding, or at least in the primordial goo out of which we are told all life sprang.

In 1876 Thomas Huxley, an agnostic biologist and aptly named “Darwin’s Bulldog,” boldly declared that the theory of evolution was as scientifically verifiable as Copernicus’s heliocentricity. Over a century later, physicist H.S. Lipson epitomized just how far evolution, and indeed modernity, had come. Referring to the broad acceptance of Darwin, Lipson stated that “…evolution became in a sense a scientific religion; almost all scientists have accepted it and many are prepared to ‘bend’ their observations to fit in with it” (“A Physicist Looks at Evolution,” Physics Bulletin 31 no. 4 [1980]).

While science used to be a discipline of observation and testing, it has now become something altogether different. It has become Scientism. Philosopher J.P. Moreland defines Scientism as the erroneous belief that the hard sciences can not only provide a genuine knowledge of reality but are the highest intellectual authority. “Scientism,” he states, “is the very paradigm of truth and rationality” (Scientism and Secularism [Wheaton: Crossway, 2018], 29). Science has become the religion of modernity and scientists, its priests, interceding on behalf of the hoi polloi to bring knowledge and light. The so-called soft sciences must bow and quietly speculate with subjectivity while so-called hard sciences loudly pontificate on the properties of reality.  

Sadly, the wholehearted acquiescence to this new belief is most evident in western Christianity, particularly evangelicalism. Moreland states, “…when scientists make claims that seem to conflict with biblical teaching and solid theology, theologians and biblical scholars start ducking into foxholes, hoist the white flag of surrender, and trip over each other in the race to see who can be the first to come up with a revision of biblical teaching that placates the scientists.” If Scientism says that genomic mutation rates prove that men must have evolved from no less than 10,000 hominids, then Adam and Eve must have been nothing more than allegories or mythical archetypes. If Scientism says that homosexuality is inherent, then a glut of Christians rises up to apologize for misreading the Bible for two millennia. If gender is declared nothing more than a psychological construct, then the cisgendered must alter pronouns in the Bible to include Ze and Hir. When commanded to awake from their sociological slumber, privileged Christians must become woke. They must get in line lest they receive the shameful label of ignorant, or worse, skeptic.

But we all may discover Scientism to be a fickle religion as science proves more and more to be a mutable deity. What is proven today can be disproven tomorrow. As telescopes look farther and microscopes look smaller, the mysteries of the cosmos always remain just out of reach. What seemed sure in nature often becomes obscure, like trying to find the once-planet Pluto in the night sky. If the cosmos is all there is or ever was or ever will be, then why does everything have a beginning and end?

While debates on climate have been heating up recently, only a few decades ago in 1975, Newsweek magazine ran an article delineating the scientific consensus that much of the world was on the precipice of entering a new ice age. The author of the article, Peter Gwynne, said in a 2014 mea culpa, “while the hypotheses described in that original story seemed right at the time, climate scientists now know that they were seriously incomplete” (Inside Science, May 21 [2014]). What we thought we knew yesterday was wrong, but what we now know today is definitely right. What was incomplete yesterday is now, they say, most assuredly complete. I wonder what knowledge tomorrow will bring? After all, “who can know the mind of God?”

Contemporary science must therefore recognize its limitations and be willing to once again play the supporting role to philosophy and theology. This will be the subject of next week’s article.

This essay is by Brett Williams, Provost and Executive Vice President at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

The Heavens Declare Thy Glory, Lord

Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

The heavens declare Thy glory, Lord,
in ev’ry star Thy wisdom shines;
but when our eyes behold Thy Word,
we read Thy Name in fairer lines.

The rolling sun, the changing light,
and nights and days Thy pow’r confess;
but the blest volume Thou hast writ
reveals Thy justice and Thy grace.

Sun, moon, and stars convey Thy praise
round the whole earth, and never stand:
so when Thy truth began its race,
it touched and glanced on ev’ry land.

Nor shall Thy spreading gospel rest
till through the world Thy truth has run,
till Christ has all the nations blest
that see the light, or feel the sun.

Great Sun of Righteousness, arise,
bless the dark world with heav’nly light;
Thy gospel makes the simple wise;
Thy laws are pure, Thy judgments right.

Thy noblest wonders here we view
in souls renewed and sins forgiv’n;
Lord, cleanse my sins, my soul renew,
and make Thy Word my guide to heav’n.

For all humans, believers and unbelievers alike, life in this world and in this present body is filled with pain. Mortality takes its toll both in us and around us. Children experience diseases and mishaps. Growing up entails meeting new forms of distress, and while we are still young we discover that not all anguish is physical. The more that we age, the more we discover the truth of Louisa May Alcott’s observation that a life of beauty is only a dream.

When we think of the sufferings of Christ, our minds turn first to His passion—His death on the cross for our sins. Yet Christ’s sufferings began at the moment of His nativity. He was born into a world and into a race for which suffering is a condition of fallen existence. To be human is to suffer, and the incarnate Christ was fully and completely human.

Consequently, we need to distinguish two senses of the sufferings of Christ. In the first (His passion) our guilt was imputed to Him as He propitiated God’s justice with respect to our sins. In the second (His afflictions) He, while personally unfallen and sinless, “was made in the likeness of sinful flesh” (Rom 8:3) and entered fully and genuinely into the experience of humanity in a fallen world.

Quite apart from His redemptive work on the cross, Jesus could and did experience human afflictions. After forty days of fasting He felt the pangs of hunger (Matt 4:2). After extended exertion He grew weary (John 4:6). His own people misunderstood Him so badly that they thought He was crazy (Mark 3:21). Even His brothers did not believe Him (John 7:5). He shed tears and experienced grief (John 11:35; Isa 53:3). He knew what it felt like to have his closest friends betray and deny Him (Matt 26:16; Luk 22:54-62). None of these afflictions constituted the vicarious sacrifice in which Christ “bare our sins in his own body on the tree” (1 Pet 2:24). Not all of Christ’s afflictions were part of His passion.

At the same time, these afflictions were not disconnected from Christ’s mission. Before He could go to the cross and suffer for our sins, He had to become a genuine human being. He had to live a human life in which He was tested “in all points” like we are. In other words, Jesus had to endure all of these afflictions before He could even qualify as our substitute and sacrifice. While His afflictions were not the sin-offering, they were nevertheless “for us” in an important sense.

These “afflictions of Christ” are what the apostle Paul references in Colossians 1:24. Paul chooses a term (thlipsis or affliction) that Scripture never uses for the expiatory sufferings of Christ. Rather, Paul is likely talking about the human sufferings of Christ in the world. These afflictions are related to Jesus’ redemptive work in that they provided the opportunity for Him to learn obedience (Heb 5:8), thus qualifying Him as our sin bearer, but they are not directly the sufferings that propitiated God’s justice. In other words, Christ suffered for our benefit in ways that did not directly secure our salvation. Consequently, even these ordinary, everyday afflictions take on deep significance.

The resurrection body of Christ has ascended into heaven, where He is seated in His Father’s throne (Rev 3:21). Nevertheless, He is still in the world in at least three ways. First, His divine omnipresence permeates all of the created order. As the Second Person of the Godhead He is in the world spiritually—and even though His human body is seated in heaven, His presence is the presence of a theanthropic person. Second, He is in the world through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, who mediates the person of Christ to His people. The indwelling of the Spirit and the presence of Christ are closely connected by the apostle Paul in Romans 8:9-10. Third, even though the human body of Christ is now in heaven, He still has a body in this world, but it is a spiritual body—and His body is the Church (Eph 2:22-23; Col 1:24). Somehow Christ lives and acts in the world through the members of this body, of which He is the head (Eph 2:22; 1 Cor 12:12-27).

Jesus suffered in His human body when it was on earth. Because His spiritual body, the Church, is still on earth, its members continue to suffer. This affliction arises partly because these members are unglorified humans in an unglorified world. It also arises partly because the kind of people who hated Jesus and rejected Him in His human body now hate Him and reject Him in His spiritual body, the Church. For both these reasons, Christians must expect affliction, hardship, privation, and suffering in the present order.

Like Jesus’ afflictions, however, our afflictions are more than just the rotten cost of living in a fallen world. Christ’s afflictions were important because they contributed to the ultimate wellbeing of believers, and in this sense they were “for us” even when they were not expiatory. In the same way, our afflictions as members of His body are also for the good of others. When we are afflicted (whether through calamity or persecution), our suffering affects other believers in ways that build them up. Our afflictions and our responses to them can encourage and inspire other believers. Our endurance in suffering can set an example for others. Furthermore, we can sometimes choose to absorb suffering that might have been endured by others. At least part of what Christ’s non-expiatory afflictions began to do for others, our sufferings continue to do. In that sense, we “fill up” or complete what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ (Col 1:24). We do for one another what He is not on earth to do for us.

Affliction is part of every human life. For unbelievers, suffering often appears random and meaningless. For Christians, however, every bit of suffering is freighted with significance. Our hurts and distresses somehow continue the ministry of Christ to our brothers and sisters. God uses all our pain, and God always uses our pain.

Paul had never met the believers in Colossae. He did not evangelize them. He did not disciple them. As he sat in jail, however, he understood that his present suffering was for their benefit. Paul’s motto was that “to live is Christ” (Phil 1:21), so filling up the afflictions of Christ was meaningful to him. Knowing that his sufferings were “for you” (as he wrote to the Colossians) changed the very quality of the ordeal. From Paul’s point of view, affliction is ministry, and he embraced this ministry with joy. So might we.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Ere the Blue Heavens Were Stretched Abroad

Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

Ere the blue heavens were stretched abroad,
From everlasting was the Word;
With God he was, the Word was God,
And must divinely be adored.

By his own power were all things made;
By him supported all things stand;
He is the whole creation’s head,
And angels fly at his command.

But lo! he leaves those heavenly forms;
The Word descends and dwells in clay,
That he may converse hold with worms,
Dressed in such feeble flesh as they.

Mortals with joy beheld his face,
The eternal Father’s only Son:
How full of truth, how full of grace,
The brightness of the Godhead shone!

The angels leave their high abode,
To learn new mysteries here, and tell
The love of our descending God,
The glories of Immanuel.

In the previous essay I explained three areas in which nineteenth-century Baptist theologian Alvah Hovey provided some help in thinking through the nature and place of theological education. One of these was the idea that theology itself is the master and those who study it are to be mastered by it. In Hovey’s mind, theological education ought not, and cannot, be divorced from the Christian life. It cannot be confined to seminary study alone.

Theological education cannot be confined to seminary because it is by nature a lifelong endeavor. Formal theological education produces a base out of which further study ought to grow. Hovey was aware that not every pastor can attain formal education, and, in some cases, it did not hinder great ministries. John Bunyan, Andrew Fuller, and Charles Spurgeon fall into this category. However, these men had exceptional minds and engaged in lifelong self-education by which they attained, in a roundabout fashion, the recommended theological education. In certain other cases, such as men who receive a call to ministry later in life, theological education is certainly more difficult though still preferable.

In another sense, theological education is part and parcel of the Christian life because there is always an element of mystery or partial knowledge to the practice of theology. This is the distinction between archetypal and ectypal knowledge. Archetypal is the knowledge that God has of himself and ectypal is our derivative understanding of God that we have because of God’s self-revelation and the Spirit’s work of regeneration and illumination. Hovey admitted that “partial knowledge is all we can now have in matters of religion. And it is wholesome for us to bear this in mind as we investigate doctrines of surpassing interest” (Hovey, “Character Tested by Religious Inquiry,” 508). Mystery is not a reason to abandon the study of theology; rather, the recognition of such mystery is requisite to the study of theology.

Beyond the Creator-creature distinction is the fact that there are limitations to learning and reason. Human reasoning ability is a God-given faculty to be used even though it is limited. Studying theology comes with mental, moral, religious, and educational qualifications. Each is important, each relates to the others, and a lack in one is a detriment to others. Hovey’s guiding principle was that theological study is a continual spiritual exercise directed toward seeking the face of God. When speaking about the “religious” qualification of a theological student, Hovey simply stated that, “We must love divine things in order to know them” (Hovey, Manual of Christian Theology, 9).

The person who would study theology and effectively minister has an important task. Hovey’s summary of this is pointed and instructive: “He must be one who clings, not to human speculation or intuition, but to revealed truth, which is sure, and worthy of all acceptance. He must be, not a rationalist, who leans to his own understanding, nor a mystic, who surrenders himself to the impulses of his own fancy or feeling, but an educated Christian, who knows and love, and retains with the grasp of intelligent faith, that system of truth which was taught by Christ and his apostles” (Hovey, “Preparation for the Christian Ministry,” 440).  In another place Hovey calls this same requirement intelligent piety. I hope what Hovey was driving at is becoming clear. Due to the nature of the theological exercise and the limitations of humanity, the personal abilities that ought to accompany someone who studies the things of God extends to the whole person.

In the final examination, theological education contains an inherent warning to the Christian. Hovey felt that God tested the theological student in his reverence, his faith, and his hope. Reverence is tested because the vast difference between God and humanity means the student should never think too much of himself in comparison to God and his judgments. Faith is tested by study because the limitations of reason mean the Christian must have a fearful and loving trust in God and his Word when doubt and difficulty come. Hope is tested because though we are limited in the here and now, “the time will come when we shall no longer see through a glass darkly, but face to face, when we shall no longer know in part, but shall even know as we are known” (Hovey, “Character Tested by Religious Inquiry,” 511). Character is tested by theological study.

The connection between theological education and the Christian life is essential. We must love God in order to know God and we must know God in order to love God. Hovey’s warning that the failure to comprehend the ways of God will test our faith should not be lost. The difficulty of theology and the limitations of our study are not to hold us back. Rather, they direct us toward God.

Ministry, whether vocational or not, is complex. Hence, the skills and knowledge needed to effectively minister are also complex. Theological education has an essential place even though it has (and we have) definite limitations. These should keep us from pride and pontification. But they should not cripple us through fear and reticence. We are all expected to minister, which assumes some level of theological education. Done well, this should drive us to our knees.

Hovey’s view of the study of theology as a spiritual exercise agrees with much of the heritage of the church. Those of us living in the twenty-first century would do well to pursue God similarly through the study of theology. Conversely, we should never, and really can never, study theology properly without simultaneously pursuing God. At its best, theological education helps develop ministerial capacity. More importantly, it leads the student to seek the face of God.

This essay is by Matt Shrader, Director of Recruitment and Retention and Assistant Professor of Church History at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

This Is the Day the Lord Has Made

Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

This is the day the Lord has made;
He calls the hours His own;
let heav’n rejoice, let earth be glad,
and praise surround the throne.

Today he rose and left the dead,
and Satan’s empire fell;
today the saints His triumphs spread,
and all His wonders tell.

Hosanna to th’anointed King,
to David’s holy Son.
help us, O LORD, descend and bring
salvation from Your throne.

Blest be the Lord, who comes to us
with messages of grace;
who comes, in God His Father’s name,
to save our sinful race.

Debates over theological education are nothing new. Why do we have seminary theological education? What are seminaries meant to do? What about theological education for the non-pastor? Fortunately, we do not stand alone in trying to answer these questions. Mining the wealth of those who have come before us is a worthwhile exercise. In two short essays I propose that we take some time to learn from one of our Baptist forebearers about the nature and place of theological education.

In the second half of the nineteenth century, the name Alvah Hovey signaled knowledge, wisdom, and respect among all Baptists. Very few Baptists in his day held as much deserved authority to speak on issues of theology and education. Hovey taught at Newton Theological Institute in the Boston area from 1849 until his death in 1903, serving as its president from 1868–1898. Hovey was known for his published theology textbooks, his many articles, his reviews, and his editing of the American Commentary on the New and Old Testaments. (If you own John Broadus’s commentary on Matthew, then not only did Hovey edit that volume but he also contributed the forty-page introduction to the New Testament in Broadus’s volume). In addition to theology and commentary, Hovey wrote much on practical matters, including theological education. Hovey repeatedly shared three pieces of the theological education puzzle that help us understand why we have theological education at any level and what theological education at its very base level must accomplish.

The first piece of advice is the simple truth that ministry is multi-faceted because the Christian life is multi-faceted. Hovey pointed to the Apostle Paul’s counsel to Titus and Timothy (Titus 1:9; 2 Tim 2:2) as an example. These are some of the later letters of Paul and, like many of Paul’s later letters, they provide instruction for the early church as well as answers to the growing opposition to genuine Christianity. Paul recognized the complex world that Timothy and Titus were facing, and Paul understood that the end of his own life was drawing near. What then could he exhort these young men to do? The charge that Paul laid on these young men was to take their theological education and put it to use for the sake of the church. Hovey understood these two verses to argue the simple truth that theological education was “eminently desirable.” With the passage of the centuries Christian ministry has not grown any less complex. Ministry is multi-faceted in that Christian leaders have various character qualifications they must meet. They must be mature as a person, as a leader, and as a teacher. Character qualifications reach to the entire person. More than this is the simple understanding that Christian ministry is complex because it has to be able to speak to and meet the many (rational, moral, spiritual, etc.) needs of the people around them.

Since ministry is multi-faceted, Hovey then asserted the coordinating truth that theological training also needs to be multi-faceted. This second piece of advice was a reference not only to the idea that there are multiple departments of a theological seminary but that there are multiple skills one needs to learn. Traditionally, students who have completed the standard seminary curriculum should be able to take their developed understanding of the Bible and theology along with their acquired skills for understanding contemporary theological issues and then speak and lead their people wisely toward faithful Christian living. Theology helps the pastors, it helps their people, it helps in evangelization, it helps in edification, it helps guard against error, and it generally promotes usefulness.

Beyond these two simple ideas that undergird why theological education exists and what it must accomplish is Hovey’s third piece of advice and what I think is his chief contribution: we must let theology master us. More to the point, theology will master us whether we let it or not. Hovey did not desire to get students into seminary merely so that they could be churned out quickly. Theological education did not work that way because theological maturation does not work that way. He argued that “time and culture are requisite, and the work of the spiritual husbandman is but just begun when the seed of divine truth first takes root in the regenerated heart; it must be watched and watered and kept in the sun; the weeds of error must not be suffered to take its life, nor the cares of the world to choke it.”¹ Maturity, specifically theological maturity, is neither quickly nor easily attained. This was why sitting under seasoned (and somewhat specialized) professors at a seminary was important. But the time and difficulty of attaining spiritual maturity was also a significant reason why seminary, for Hovey, could not on its own make a minister. He felt that the local church and the Spirit of God were essential, even more so than seminary. Hovey stated: “Let no man suppose that by any system, new or old, education can do the work of the Holy Spirit, or of the Christian churches in preparing our youth for the pulpit.”² A diploma hanging on a wall is not an indication of spiritual maturity. That is measured differently.

This third piece of the puzzle is a significant assertion that is often forgotten. For Hovey, it was the central idea behind all theological education, and it pointed to how theological education ought to reach beyond just the seminary and the seminarian. When asked what he thought was the most important need for theological students, Hovey had little hesitation asserting that “there is one thing that would do more for theological students than any change in their studies, namely, a deeper consecration to the Lord.”³ Theological students need to grow in their walk with God in order to grow in their understanding of God and their skill in leading the people of God. And it is not simply pastors who need to be mastered by theology. Theological education is for all. It is a central piece in the Christian life. Hovey had much more to say on being mastered by theology. How he unpacked this is fundamental to the theological education conversation, and it will be the subject of the following essay.

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This essay is by Matt Shrader, Director of Recruitment and Retention and Assistant Professor of Church History at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Risen Lord, Thou Hast Received

Charles Haddon Spurgeon (1834–1892)

Risen Lord, Thou hast received
Gifts to bless the sons of men,
That with souls who have believed,
God might dwell on earth again.

Now these gifts be pleased to send us,
Elders, deacons, still supply,
Men whom Thou art pleased to lend us,
All the saints to edify.

Guide us while we here select them,
Let the Holy Ghost be nigh,
Do Thou, Lord, Thyself elect them,
And ordain them from on high.

[Pause while election is made.]

Lord, Thy church invokes Thy blessing
On her chosen elders’ head,
Here we stand, our need confessing,
Waiting till Thy grace be shed.

Pour on them Thy rich anointing,
Fill Thy servants with Thy power,
Prove them of Thine own appointing,
Bless them from this very hour.

Abraham entered the Promised Land as a foreigner. Although he spent virtually the rest of his life in the land, he never lost his status as an alien. Rather than ceding rights to the surrounding kings, settling down, and establishing a home, Abraham continued to live as a nomad (Heb 11:8-9). He had been promised this land as an inheritance from God. He anticipated a “city that hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God” (Heb 11:10). He would accept nothing less.

Abraham’s attitude is built into the life of faith. To live by faith is to confess that one is a foreigner and an exile on earth. It is to yearn for a better homeland—a heavenly one. God delights in people who display this attitude, and He has prepared a city for them (Heb 11:16). Clearly Christians ought to be such people.

The problem is that all our lives we have the opportunity to return to our old homeland (Heb 11:15). We know that we are destined for the heavenly city, New Jerusalem (Rev 21‑22). Yet that city seems more distant and less real—less like home—to us than, say, Minneapolis or Dallas. For now, it is invisible and intangible, but the necessities of mortal life are present to us. At meal time our bellies want substantial (and preferably tasty) food; we cannot eat the marriage supper of the Lamb. When we stub our toe in the dark our first thought is not for the light of the eternal city, but to reach for a light switch. Of course, the pleasures of sin may seem very pleasant indeed, even if we know that we enjoy them only for a season. Even apart from sin, however, the innocent delights of this world may occupy our attention by virtue of their very immediacy.

We face something of a paradox. On the one hand, we dare not deny the goodness of God’s creation (including the goodness of our own bodies), and we ought not to question that He has made certain good things in the present world to delight us. Who would want to live in a world without sunsets and autumn leaves? On the other hand, we are destined for a new creation that culminates in a New Jerusalem on a new earth, and the life of faith consists in prioritizing the new creation above the old.

This paradox forces upon us two temptations. The first is that we may seek to value the new creation by neglecting or even despising the good things that God has placed in the old. In the face of this temptation we need to recall that not everything that is immanent is evil; in some sense we are to use this present world without abusing it (1 Cor 7:31). Christianity has no place for an utterly world-denying asceticism.

Yet we face a second temptation as well. We may become so preoccupied with immanent things—even good things—that we fail to stretch our anticipation forward toward our eternal home. When this happens we run the risk of becoming grubby, earthbound creatures who delight only in what can be seen and touched. When we lose our expectation of the New Jerusalem, we lose hope, for in the Bible hope is expectation. Furthermore, when we lose hope we also lose faith, for faith is the substance of things hoped for.

What we need is a way to make earthly things seem as ephemeral as they actually are while at the same time making the heavenly city to seem as substantial as it really is. God in His goodness has provided such a way. It takes the form of suffering.

Suffering teaches us by practice that even the good things of this world are very transient. Loving relationships lead to bereavements and betrayals. Good health gives way to illness and age. Money brings cares and often loss. Life itself is a vapor. Each good thing that we own comes to own a part of us, for with possession comes the stewardship of maintenance and right use. Hence the maxim, bon pa dire—good don’t last. The better we learn this lesson, the greater will be our legitimate detachment from earthly things.

On the other hand, suffering also tends to draw our attention to our eternal home and to make that home seem sweeter. Every loss quickens our eagerness for that which cannot be lost. Every hurt stirs up hope for a city where there are no tears and where pain has ceased to exist. What once seemed shadowy and ephemeral begins to take on solid form—the substance of things hoped for. 

The first Christian martyr was Stephen the deacon. As the gnashing mob rushed upon him, God granted Stephen an unusual blessing. The heavens were opened before his sight. He saw God’s glory, with Jesus standing at God’s right hand (Acts 7:54-55). In that moment, what must have seemed most real to him?

We do not have to wonder about the answer to this question. Stephen cried out, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!” The term for receive (the Greek verb dechomai) carries the idea of showing approval by welcoming a gift that is willingly offered. In other words, as the mob was murdering Stephen, he wasn’t begging for help. He was expressing readiness and even eagerness to go home, to step into the glory of God and presence of Jesus upon whom he was gazing. For Stephen, Christ was real and the glory of God was real—more substantial than the attackers who were about to martyr him.

We do not expect God to give us a similar glimpse into glory. Nevertheless, God teaches us to yearn for home like Stephen did. We usually take longer to learn the lesson, but God’s methods are suited to individual situations. Each affliction instructs us that this world is not our home. Every trial directs our attention away from the home we have left (but that still beckons to us), and toward the home to which we are going. We are citizens of another city, and when we live now as citizens of that city, God will not be ashamed to be called our God.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

The Duteous Day Now Closeth

Paul Gerhardt (1607–1676); tr. Robert Bridges (1844–1930)

The duteous day now closeth,
each flow’r and tree reposeth,
shade creeps o’er wild and wood;
let us, as night is falling,
on God our Maker calling,
give thanks to Him, the Giver good.

Now all the heav’nly splendor
breaks forth in starlight tender
from myriad worlds unknown;
and man, the marvel seeing,
forgets his selfish being,
for joy of beauty not his own.

His care he drowneth yonder,
lost in th’abyss of wonder;
to heav’n his soul doth steal;
this life he disesteemeth,
the day it is that dreameth,
that doth from truth his vision seal.

Awhile his mortal blindness
may miss God’s loving-kindness
and grope in faithless strife;
but when life’s day is over
shall death’s fair night discover
the fields of everlasting life.