Communion Meditation: God’s Insurance Policy

A Twilight Musing  

What would you think if an insurance agent came to your home and offered you a policy that covers not only the mishaps that might come to you in the future, but all of the misfortunes and mistakes from which you have suffered in the past?  And what if, moreover, the expense and risk of this dream policy were to be borne, not by you, for whom it is written, but by the company that issues it?  You would say, of course, "What's the catch?  What do I have to do?"  Then the agent says, "You have to agree only to accept the policy as a gift, and not to think or say that you have received it because you deserve it; and also to commit yourself to be governed by the spirit of generosity manifested by the company and to tell others about it."

 Jesus referred in His institution of the Lord's Supper to the "covenant" sealed by His blood.  This covenant is somewhat like the unbelievable insurance policy described above, in that, like all of God's covenants, it depends on what He has done, not on what we have done. We have no bragging rights when we accept it, only thanking rights.  But accepting the covenant sealed by Jesus' blood is a much more intimate arrangement than signing that fantasy insurance policy.  It is more like the marriage of Hosea to his undeserving wife, for God Himself has plucked us from the miry clay of sin and set our feet on the rock of His assurance that He will cover all past and future harms that may come to us.  

Of course, that places some responsibilities on us, not by way of payment, but by way of gratitude.  How can we live in the light of His salvation except by letting the brightness of His generosity shine in us, and by telling others of the wonders of God's covenant of grace?  As we take these symbols of Jesus' sacrifice and covenant, let us remember that He has made us his Body in the world, so that we can be the proclaimers of His Perfect Insurance Policy, written in blood.   

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton. Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

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The Moral Argument(s) and Christian Salvation, Part I: Forgiveness

Over the next three installments, we will extend the discussion of moral apologetics and Christian theology by connecting the moral argument—particularly one version of it—with three deep moral needs we as human beings display: our need to be forgiven, our need to be changed, and our need to be perfected. Each of these profoundly existential needs we possess as human beings corresponds to an important aspect of Christian salvation.

When I say “the moral argument,” I’m using that phrase in a general sort of way. In truth there’s more than one moral argument. There’s a whole range of them. If you prefer, you can think of one moral argument with a number of different parts. At least most of the time that works pretty well since the different variants of the argument tend to be rather consistent with one another. The specific formulation of the moral argument we will consider today is what John Hare calls the “performative” version or, for reasons that will become clear, an “argument from grace.”

You might remember in Book 1 of Mere Christianity C. S. Lewis says two things are at the heart of our understanding of reality: First, there’s a moral law, and second, we all fall short of it. On his claim we can start to build a performative moral argument. There is a moral standard that’s objective and universal. It’s binding and authoritative on us, but we invariably fall short of meeting it. This results in the “gap” between the best we can do and what morality requires. And this gap needs addressing. We find ourselves as having fallen short, and we know it.

How do we know we’ve got a moral problem on our hands? One way, you might say, is by our moral sense, which even plenty of secular thinkers recognize as in some way significant. Take Charles Darwin, for example, who thought it’s our moral sense that best distinguishes human beings from the animals. Indeed, he begins chapter 5 of Descent of Man with this admission: “I fully subscribe to the judgment of those writers who maintain that of all the differences between man and the lower animals, the moral sense or conscience is by far the most important.” He even says he considers the moral sense, our sense of “ought,” to be “humankind’s finest quality.” Elsewhere in the same book Darwin casts both “ought” and “disinterested love for all living creatures” as the noblest attribute of man.

Darwin intuitively felt the importance of morality, even if he ended up embracing a deflationary analysis of its import. Similarly Sigmund Freud. To Freud’s thinking, the problem of guilt is so severe that he diagnosed it in Civilization and Its Discontents as the single most important development of civilization—a problem so acute that it is the thing most responsible for our unhappiness. Perhaps what helps explain Freud’s conviction is that his analytic work found that nearly every neurosis conceals an unconscious sense of guilt, which in turn “fortifies the symptoms by making use of them as punishment.”

For both Darwin and Freud, the phenomenon of guilt was both interesting and important, even revelatory. Recall their depictions: Darwin thought our capacity for experiencing the moral sense and a painful conscience is by far the most important distinction between us and the animals; our sense of ought and disinterested love for all creatures, he believed the noblest virtue of man. And Freud took the problem of guilt as the single most important development of civilization. But they mistook its import, I suspect, embracing reductionist analyses and taking guilt itself as the essential problem, rather than the deeper malady of which guilt is but the symptom. Rightly construed guilt is semiotic, pointing beyond itself.

That we intuitively sense there to be a moral standard that we fall short of leaves us with a condition of guilt in need of fixing. And if we take our feelings of guilt as more than mere feelings, and something like a real objective condition of guilt, we are left wondering if there’s a solution. We need forgiveness for having fallen short of the moral standard—and not just falling short in the past, but continuing to fall short all the time. Forgiveness is a basic and chronic existential human need. 

I rather doubt Freud was wrong about guilt creating quite a bit of unhappiness, which makes it understandable that our secular friends see the need to deal with it, usually by trying to deny that we are really that guilty. Unaddressed guilt eats us up. And sometimes people do have an overactive superego and feel guilty for all sorts of things that they’re not really guilty of. But at other times, most of us intuitively recognize, our guilt isn’t a mistake, but a real insight into ourselves. We don’t need our guilt explained away, in those cases, but taken away, forgiven.

And of course this is one way that the moral argument serves as the perfect pathway to the gospel of Christ—indeed we have fallen short, and are in need of forgiveness. And God offers us that forgiveness through the death and resurrection of Christ. Not only does God offer us forgiveness, but we as his forgiven children can extend forgiveness to others. This is why it’s so imperative we maintain a stance of forgiveness toward our neighbors, modeling the grace God has shown us. And of course many will recognize that all of this broaches the whole theological topic of justification.

So you might wish to approach this philosophically—talking about guilt and our need for forgiveness, and then showing how philosophy leads you to the brink of theology. Or start with a theological discussion of justification, and then show how it comports with what we learned from our moral experience and what we might call general revelation. Or take the deliverances of theology like justification and use insights from moral apologetics to spell out part of what’s going on—that’s doing philosophical theology.

However we approach it, the moral argument, from this angle, functions as an ideal way to introduce the good news of the gospel. We have a problem, yes, but God offers the solution.

In the next installment we will discuss the moral argument and moral transformation.

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David Baggett is professor of philosophy and Director of the Center for Moral Apologetics at Houston Baptist University.

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Communion Meditation – "Let the Beauty of Jesus be Seen in Me"

A Twilight Musing

           There is a wonderful little chorus that we used to sing when I was young called "Let the Beauty of Jesus be Seen in Me," and after the first line it went, "All His wonderful passion and purity."  When we partake of the Lord's Supper, we are told that it is in memory of Him and that it proclaims His death until He comes again.  But it is not a mere act of memory of our Lord's death, even in awe and respect and love, nor yet again a recounting of the event of His crucifixion; but rather it is always to be a fresh submission to letting His presence dwell in us so that our very lives are proclamations of the living Jesus.  As Paul says, we are "crucified with Christ," so that it is no longer we who live, but Christ in us (Gal. 2:20); and thus, indeed, His beauty will be seen in us.

           We must remember that in partaking of this Supper, we are not giving thanks for something that was wrapped up in the past, but we are acknowledging something that is still in process through the transformation of our lives into copies of Jesus.  And in that process, we are not reservoirs, but wells springing up and making the water of life real to those who observe us.  As we take the bread within us, we affirm again that we have taken on His crucified Body, so that we can contain His Spirit; and as we take the wine, we embrace the power of God that inhabits us and empowers us.  The world cries out with the Greeks who sought out Jesus (John 12:21), "We want to see Jesus!" and in this Supper each week, we determine afresh that by God's grace and enablement, the world will see Him in us.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton. Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

Communion Meditation – Bread of Earth & Bread of Heaven

A Twilight Musing by Elton Higgs

“Do not labor for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to eternal life, which the Son of man will give to you; for on him has God the Father set his seal!"...Jesus said to them, 'I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst" (John 6:27, 35).

In partaking of this bread, we reaffirm our commitment to the true Bread of Life, rather than to the bread which perishes. Our labors for the daily bread which sustains our physical bodies are set aside, and we allow ourselves to be drawn into the realm of eternal satisfaction with Jesus. The repeated supplying and partaking of our daily bread is necessary as a means to an end, which is learning to eat and drink of God Himself, so that we may be completely filled and satisfied. Jesus is making this point in John 6, when He contrasts the temporal manna in the wilderness, miraculous though it was, with the true bread--Jesus Himself—which sustains spiritual life, not merely physical life.

However, in our present form, we need both the bread of earth and the Bread of Heaven. The bread of earth prolongs our days on earth long enough for God's purposes for us here to be fulfilled; by the grace of God we are sustained so that we may be His instruments in the world. But the fulfillment of that instrumentality is accomplished only by our taking within us the nature of the perfectly obedient Son of God. The Bread of Heaven sustains us as reborn beings who are delivered from the captivity of the first Adam into the freedom of the Second Adam, Jesus our Savior. Thus the Bread of Life nourishes the eternal part of us, not just our doomed bodies. But just as Jesus manifested the Divine Nature in a physical and perishable body, so we carry out His ministry by a temporary reflection of the Incarnation, merging the mortal and the immortal in an uneasy union to carry out God's purposes.

Jesus calls us to be like Himself in the world, experiencing the tension between the first and the second birth. He sustains both natures by His provision of bread, which is profoundly symbolized in its double sense in the Lord's Supper. He calls upon us to embrace and ingest it with thankfulness for both the physical and the spiritual sustenance which are embodied in what is at once the bread of earth and the Bread of Heaven. We walk thus, suspended with Him, until He calls us home to feast imperishably at His table.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton. Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

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The Savior and the Sea: The Theological Meaning behind the Absence of the Sea in Eternity

I enjoy going to the beach. There is something soothing and therapeutic about the sound of the ocean’s waves crashing upon the shore. The ocean’s rhythmic sound patterns tend to alleviate the stress and strains of life. The beautiful sunrises and sunsets over the ocean’s horizon are something that no artist can duplicate.

For this reason, Revelation 21:1 has always seemed odd to me. The text reads, “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more” (Rev. 21:1). Why are oceans and seas not found in the new creation? Heaven is greater than anything possibility imaginable in this creation. If something is good in this creation, then it will be great in the next one. If that is the case, then why would one of God’s most beautiful creations not be found there? Revelation makes it clear that the new creation would have water. Revelation 22:1 notes the existence of a “river of the water of life, clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb” (Rev. 22:1). If there are rivers, would they not pour out into a larger body of water that would be comparable to modern oceans?

The absence of the sea in the new creation holds a deeper theological issue and is most likely not to be taken literally. The symbol speaks to a literal truth. But the concept of the sea is an image that resonates with the overall teaching of Scripture. I have always been taught that the best interpreter of Scripture is Scripture. With that in mind, what does the sea represent throughout the pages of Scripture?

The Sea as a Representation of Chaos

            Genesis 1 depicts God’s creation of the universe. While God is shown to be in total control of creation, the text describes an ordering of creation from the chaotic waters of the deep (Gen. 1:1-2). The watery depths of the sea are shown to be a place of chaos as opposed to the stability of the dry land. Yahweh—the personal name of God—brings order by causing the waters to subside and bringing order and stability to the world by the creation of the continental bodies. Considering how dangerous seafaring is today, even more so in antiquity, it stands to reason why the ancients would have viewed the sea in such fashion. David writes, “The ropes of death were wrapped around me; the torrents of destruction terrified me” (Psa. 18:4). While the sea was chaotic, Yahweh, the “God of glory” (Ps. 29:3), “thunders above the vast water” (Ps. 29:3).

The idea of a storm god battling the sea was not unique to the OT. Many beliefs in the Ancient Near East and Indo-European religions held that the storm god battled the chaos of the sea (Green, The Storm God; Ara, Eschatology, 105-107). The difference with the OT is that Yahweh was shown to be the creator over both the clouds and the sea. He was sovereign over everything and brought order from chaos. No other entity was involved in creation outside of Yahweh. Yahweh’s battles did not bring about creation as was found in other worldviews. Rather, Yahweh, and Yahweh alone, was responsible for creation. Nonetheless, the sea became associated with the idea of chaos.

The Sea as a Representation of Evil

            While Yahweh was the exclusive creator of the cosmos, the OT still holds that Yahweh was opposed by the enemy forces of darkness. The enemy of God is depicted as a marine serpentine animal known as the Leviathan. The Leviathan is a monstrous beast whose home is found in the chaos of the sea. Yahweh strips Leviathan of his power and causes him to be his servant (Job 41:4). Leviathan, the serpentine dragon of the sea, will be ultimately destroyed by Yahweh at the end of time (Isa. 27:1). This image is continued in the book of Daniel as the evil political powers are shown to be serpentine sea monsters rising from the chaos of the sea (Dan. 7:1-13). The Pharaoh of Egypt is depicted as a monster of the Nile who would be defeated by God (Ezek. 29:3-5). It is unsurprising that the Red Sea kept the Israelites from crossing over into the Promised Land—that is, until Yahweh overcame the power of the seas by dividing the waters and allowing them to cross on dry land. In Revelation, the antichrist is shown to be a beast rising from the chaotic sea (Rev. 13:1-10). Thus, evil serpentine powers of darkness are linked with the chaos of the sea.

The Savior’s Defeat of the Sea

            The powers of chaos and evil were about to be dealt a lethal blow by the Savior. Jesus changed everything. He preached that the kingdom of God was at hand (Mark 1:15). He even proved the power of God’s kingdom had come by performing miracles. Two of Jesus’s miracles are especially pertinent. Jesus proved his power over the chaotic seas by walking on the water (Matt. 14:22-33; Mark 6:45-56; and John 6:16-24) and by calming the tumultuous sea (Matt. 8:23-27; Mark 4:35-41; and Luke 8:22-25). No wonder the disciples feared Jesus’s power after observing these potent displays of authority over the forces of nature and the powers of darkness. Ultimately, Jesus’s victory over the enemies of God will be full and complete (Rev. 19:11-16) in fulfillment of Isaiah 27:1 when the serpentine dragon known as Satan and his minions are thrown into the Lake of Fire (Rev. 19:19-21).

Conclusion: What the Absence of the Sea Really Means

            After considering all the biblical data, it seems that the best interpretation of Revelation 21:1 suggests that absence of the sea is to be taken symbolically rather than literally. Yahweh created the oceans, lakes, and rivers (Exod. 20:11; Neh. 9:6; Ps. 146:6; Job 38:8-9; and Amos 9:6), and his creation was good (Gen. 1). If his creation of watery bodies on Earth is good now, the bodies of water will be perfect in the new creation. Rather than having no oceans or bodies of water in the new creation, Revelation 21:1 teaches that the new creation will bring an end to chaos and evil. The curse will be forever removed. Creation, humanity, and divinity will all live in eternal harmony. God brings order, harmony, love, and peace. His heavenly eternal creation will be a place of perfect peace. Chaos will be no more. As one who hates drama and chaos, this serves as just another reason why heaven is a wonderful and glorious place. 

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Sources

Ara, Mitra. Eschatology in the Indo-Iranian Traditions: The Genesis and Transformation of a Doctrine. New York: Peter Lang, 2008.

Green, Alberto R. W. The Storm God in the Ancient Near East. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003.

Sarlo, Daniel. “Sea.” The Lexham Bible Dictionary. Edited by John D. Barry. Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2016.

Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture comes from the Christian Standard Bible (Nashville: Holman, 2017).

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About the Author

Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, and the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics. Brian is a Ph.D. Candidate of the Theology and Apologetics program at Liberty University. He received his Master of Divinity in Theology from Liberty University (with high distinction); his Bachelor of Science in Religious Studies and Philosophy from Gardner-Webb University (with honors); and received certification in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Brian is enrolled in the Ph.D. program in Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University and is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has served in pastoral ministry for nearly 20 years. He currently serves as a clinical chaplain.

https://www.amazon.com/Laymans-Manual-Christian-Apologetics-Essentials/dp/1532697104

© 2021. BellatorChristi.com.

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Moral Apologetics & Christian Theology

For some while now I have had the thought that it would be worthwhile to explore the connection between moral apologetics and theology. I have had occasion to touch on this matter here and there, but never anything remotely exhaustive. It remains in my mind a project to pursue for later—resonances of the moral argument(s) with such theological categories as ecclesiology and Christology, eschatology and soteriology, pneumatology, theological anthropology, and theology proper. In this short piece today, I’m going to just tip my toe in such a project by using something of a traditional four-fold distinction that cuts across a variety of theological concerns.

From the earliest chapters of Genesis we find that what gets broken and is need of being set right are the following facets of our existence: ourselves, the creation, our relationship with others, and our relationship with God. John Hare’s forthcoming book on theistic ethics—the third in his trilogy (after The Moral Gap and God’s Command)—is structured in a similar four-fold way: specifically, the unity we seek in life, with the creation or environment, with other people, and with God. And R. Scott Rodin’s excellent book on the steward leader similarly couches the discussion in terms of four areas in which leaders foster robust health: in the self, with others, with creation, and with God. Categories of self and life might seem different, but since I see the biblical discourse of life primarily in terms of the abundant, kingdom life for which God designed each one of us, it seems to me that they are inextricably linked. So let’s quickly canvass each in turn.

In terms of the self, and the sort of life for which we were made, there are three conceptually distinct aspects to our salvation. There is justification, which puts us right with God; this largely involves our forgiveness for falling short. C. S. Lewis said the key to understanding the universe resides in recognizing that there’s a moral standard and that we fail to meet it. This introduces the need, first, for our forgiveness, and according to Christian theology God has made provision for our forgiveness in the death and resurrection of Jesus. The second dimension of salvation is sanctification, the gradual process by which we are not just forgiven, but actually changed and transformed into the likeness of Christ. This introduces what John Hare calls the performative dimension of moral apologetics—how we can cross the gap between the best we can do, morally speaking, and the moral standard. If we are obligated to meet the standard, but are unable to do so on our own, Augustine thought that this was to show us our need for God’s grace to be changed. The culmination of salvation is glorification, the point at which, by God’s grace, we are entirely conformed to the image of Christ; we are made perfect, altogether delivered from sin’s power and consequences. Christian theology thus makes sense of our need for forgiveness, our need to be changed, and ultimately even our desire to be perfected.

Immanuel Kant’s argument for the afterlife was predicated on his thinking that a “holy will” was the province of God’s alone, and that it would forever reside beyond our reach. We would thus need eternity to approach it asymptotically (ever closer but never there)—because it’s a process that will never be completed. He was both right and wrong, I think. Contra Kant, Christian theology says that we will indeed by God’s grace be entirely conformed to the image of Christ, so there is a destination at which the regenerate will arrive. But I suspect he was right in an important sense to think of our eternal state as involving more of a dynamic picture than a static one. Once glorified, our growth won’t cease; indeed, completion of “the good work within us” will mark the chance for us to live as we were fully intended with all the obstructions removed.

Sometimes there is debate over whether morality will go away in heaven. My guess is that morality in Kant’s sense certainly will; talk of rights and duties will pass away. But they will be replaced by something far grander—gift and sacrifice, as George Mavrodes would say. Or think of rights and duties as the mere anteroom in a grand castle or cathedral that represents morality. Life in that place will be as it should be: life among its towering spires, where self-giving love is the norm. We are told, in fact, that the glory to come is something so wonderful we can scarcely imagine it.

Lewis sometimes likened the whole quest of morality to a fleet of ships. This fleet must consist of vessels that are individually seaworthy. It must function cooperatively, with all vessels navigating their ways without crashing into one another. And this fleet must have a destination. The first and third requirements—individual seaworthiness and reaching a destination—are closely connected to the individual’s moral trajectory. By God’s grace we are made seaworthy: we find forgiveness for our invariable shortcomings, grace to be radically transformed, grace by which to find meaning in life and our vocations of purpose, and grace ultimately to become the wholly distinctive expressions of Christ God designed us to be.

Lewis’s middle requirement in the fleet example pertains to not bumping into others, and this is the second of the aforementioned four theological constraints. In fact, nowadays, morality is often deflated in the minds of many to pertain just to this feature of ethics, but in fact it is only one of the four parts. Morality rightly understood and practiced does indeed lead, in general, to more harmonious relations with others; this is one reason why Christ followers are called to be ministers of reconciliation. Indeed, this is arguably also part of the goal or telos of humanity: that the barriers of fellowship between people would be removed and we would learn to love another and forge deep relationships of mutual care with one another. Indeed, in Christian theology, after the most important commandment, which we’ll get to in a moment, the second most important command is that we love our neighbors as ourselves. And we are pretty much told that we can’t discharge the most important command without taking the neighbor-love command with dreadful seriousness. The communal aspects of sanctification remind us that the implications of morality are not a simply individualist affair; waging war on systemic evils, promoting justice, feeding the poor, opposition to slavery—all of these are aspects of the moral life expansively and communally construed. Paul Copan is especially effective at highlighting this historical dimension of the moral argument by chronicling a myriad of ways in which Christians have traditionally led the way in women’s suffrage, building orphanages, opposing foot-binding, and the like.

In terms of the third theological category—unity with creation—two salient connections with moral apologetics immediately come to mind, namely, moral duties we have to care for the creation of which we have been made stewards, and treatment of animals as the sacred creatures they are. In his Lectures on Ethics Kant tried to spell out how our duties to animals are rooted in our obligations to fellow human beings, writing that if a man treats his dog well, regularly feeding and watering it and taking it for walks, this man is probably going to be kinder in his dealings with human persons. This is why Kant says, “We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals…. Tender feelings towards dumb animals develop human feelings towards mankind.”

Although that is likely true, I can’t help but be a bit dissatisfied by this analysis alone. It seems sounder to say we have an obligation to God to treat his creation properly, which includes animals, and it’s even more pressing we treat animals well because they are capable of feeling pain. It’s almost become cliché to remind us all that dominion isn’t domination. Intentionally and needlessly inflicting pain on animals, for example, is cruel disregard for God’s creation—and a sin against God. We should care about the experience of animals and want them not to suffer needlessly, and not just for instrumental reasons. I count the inability of a number of naturalist accounts to justify believing we have obligations toward animals a deficiency—even if it’s true that animals don’t have rights (a question on which I’m currently agnostic).

Elsewhere I have repeatedly made it clear that I’m eminently open—with N. T. Wright, John Wesley, and C. S. Lewis—to the idea that we will see animals in heaven. It’s not a nonnegotiable conviction of mine, but it’s a reasonable inference, I think, if we take seriously the notion that the work of Christ redeemed the entirety of the created order, of which animals are a vital part. It is actually quite illuminating to peruse the full range of biblical teachings about the animals.

Fourthly, finally, and most centrally, Christian theology gives pride of place to reconciliation with God—and not just reconciliation, but a relationship of all-consuming love for and relationship of intimacy with God. Since there are principled reasons to think of the ultimate good in personalist terms (as nothing less than God himself) and the ultimate good for us in such terms as well (nothing less than the beatific vision), I can’t help but think of the telos of humankind and the culmination of salvation in the Christian order of things through the lens of Goodness itself. The deontic family of terms, discourse about what’s obligatory or permissible, might well pass away when all things are made new, but the Good and the Beautiful will be on full display and to be enjoyed forever. That Christianity teaches that the most important commandment of all—a necessary and eternal truth—is love of God with all of our heart and soul, mind and strength, puts this dimension, this unity, this relationship at the core of reality.

Morality here and now involves just the first, fledgling lessons in learning the dance steps of the Trinity. For this reason Lewis once wrote these words: “Mere morality is not the end of life. You were made for something quite different from that…. The people who keep on asking if they can’t lead a decent life without Christ don’t know what life is about; if they did they would know that ‘a decent life’ is mere machinery compared with the things we men are really made for. Morality is indispensable: but the Divine Life, which gives itself to us and which calls us to be gods, intends for us something in which morality will be swallowed up.”

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David Baggett is professor of philosophy and Director of the Center for Moral Apologetics at Houston Baptist University.

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N. T. Wright on Virtue

(an excerpt from Wright’s After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters, pp. 18-22):

Thursday, January 15, 2009, was another ordinary day in New York City. Or so it seemed. But by that evening people were talking of a miracle.

After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters

By Wright, N. T.

            They may have been right. But the full explanation is, if anything, even more interesting and exciting. And it strikes just the note we need as we launch out on our exploration of the development of character in general and Christian character in particular.

            Flight 2549, a regular US Airways trip from LaGuardia Airport, took off at 15:26 local time, bound for Charlotte, North Carolina. The captain, Chesley Sullenberger III, known as “Sully,” did all the usual checks. Everything was fine in the Airbus A320. Fine until, two minutes after takeoff, the aircraft ran straight into a flock of Canada geese. One goose in a jet engine would be serious; a flock was disastrous. (Airports play all sorts of tricks to prevent birds gathering in the flight path, but it still happens occasionally.) Almost at once both the engines were severely damaged and lost their power. The plane was at that point heading north over the Bronx, one of the most densely populated parts of the city.

            Captain Sullenberger and his copilot had to make several major decisions instantly if they were going to save the lives of people not only on board but also on the ground. They could see one or two small local airports in the distance, but quickly realized that they couldn’t be sure of making it that far. If they attempted it, they might well crash-land in a built-up area on the way. Likewise, the option of putting the plane down on the New Jersey Turnpike, a busy main road leading in and out of the city, would present huge problems and dangers for the plane and its occupants, let alone for cars and their drivers on the road. That left one option: the Hudson River. It’s difficult to crash-land on water: one small mistake—catch the nose or one of the wings in the river, say—and the plane will turn over and over like a gymnast before breaking up and sinking.

            In the two or three minutes they had before landing, Sullenberger and his copilot had to do the following vital things (along with plenty of other tasks that we amateurs wouldn’t understand). They had to shut down the engines. They had to set the right speed so that the plane could glide as long as possible without power. (Fortunately, Sullenberger is also a gliding instructor.) They had to get the nose of the plane down to maintain speed. They had to disconnect the autopilot and override the flight management system. They had to activate the “ditch” system, which seals vents and valves, to make the plane as waterproof as possible once it hit the water. Most important of all, they had to fly and then glide the plane in a fast left-hand turn so that it could come down facing south, going with the flow of the river. And—having already turned off the engines—they had to do this using only the battery-operated systems and the emergency generator. Then they had to straighten the plane up from the tilt of the sharp-left turn so that, on landing, the plane would be exactly level from side to side. Finally, they had to get the nose back up again, but not too far up, and land straight and flat on the water.

            And they did it! Everyone got off safely, with Captain Sullenberger himself walking up and down the aisle a couple of times to check that everyone had escaped before leaving himself. Once in the life raft along with other passengers, he went one better: he took off his shirt, in the freezing January afternoon, and gave it to a passenger who was suffering in the cold.

            The story has already been told and retold, and will live on in the memory not only of all those involved but of every New Yorker and many further afield. Just over seven years and four months after the horrible devastation of September 11, 2001, New York had an airplane story to celebrate.

            Now, as I say, many people described the dramatic events as a “miracle.” At one level, I wouldn’t want to question that. But the really fascinating thing about the whole business is the way it spectacularly illustrates a vital truth—a truth which many today have either forgotten or never known in the first place.

            You could call it the power of right habits. You might say it was the result of many years of training and experience. You could call it “character,” as we have so far in this book.

            Ancient writers had a word for it: virtue.

            Virtue, in this sense, isn’t simply another way of saying “goodness.” The word has sometimes been flattened out like that (perhaps because we instinctively want to escape its challenge), but that isn’t its strict meaning. Virtue, in this strict sense, is what happens when someone has made a thousand small choices, requiring effort and concentration, to do something which is good and right but which doesn’t “come naturally”—and then, on the thousand and first time, when it really matters, they find that they do what’s required “automatically,” as we say. On that thousand and first occasion, it does indeed look as if it “just happens”; but reflection tells us that it doesn’t “just happen” as easily as that. If you or I had been flying the Airbus A320 that afternoon, and had done what “comes naturally,” or if we’d allowed things just “to happen,” we would probably have crashed into the Bronx. (Apologies to any actual pilots reading this; you, I hope, would have done what Captain Sullenberger did.) As this example shows, virtue is what happens when wise and courageous choices have become “second nature.” Not “first nature,” as though they happened “naturally.” Rather, a kind of second-order level of “naturalness.” Like an acquired taste, such choices and actions, which started off being practiced with difficulty, ended up being, yes, “second nature.”

            Sullenberger had not, of course, been born with the ability to fly a plane, let alone the specific skills he exhibited in those vital three minutes. None of the skills required, and certainly none of the courage, restraint, cool judgment, and concern for others which he displayed, is part of the kit we humans possess from birth. You have to work at mastering that sort of skill set, moving steadily toward that goal. You have to want to do it all, to choose to learn it all, to practice doing it all. Again and again. And then, sometimes, when the moment comes, it happens “automatically” as it did for Sullenberger. The skills and ability ran right through him, top to toe.

            Which is just as well. The other options hardly bear thinking about. Supposing they had been novice pilots simply “doing what came naturally”? Or supposing they’d had to get hold of a book with detailed instructions for coping with emergencies, look up the relevant pages, and then try to obey what it said? By the time they’d figured it out, the plane would have crashed. No: what was needed was character, formed by the specific strengths, that is, “virtues,” of knowing exactly how to fly a plane, and also the more general virtues of courage, restraint, cool judgment, and determination to do the right thing for others.

            These four strengths of character—courage, restraint, cool judgment, and determination to do the right thing for others—are, in fact, precisely the four qualities which the greatest ancient philosopher who wrote about such matters identified as the keys to genuine human existence.

Book Review: "Can We Still Believe in God" by Craig Blomberg

In Can We Still Believe in God?, Craig Blomberg answers oft-revisited questions about Christian theism (the likes of which are addressed in similar titles elsewhere)[1] from a uniquely New Testament perspective. In fact, one might argue that a more fitting title (or subtitle) for this resource would read A New Testament Defense for God or Answering Skeptics from the New Testament as this perspective preoccupies his work on a host of issues. Blomberg is honest about this penchant for the New Testament and his relatively narrow address of issues when he confesses his academic training and his awareness of what other resources have already offered by way of answers to popular skeptical questions.[2] Therefore, Blomberg’s contribution to current apologetic scholarship is providing more well-rounded answers to age-old challenges by mining material from a fairly-neglected dataset (at least in connection with certain issues)—new covenant writings.  

The questions Blomberg chooses to address from this distinctly New Testament perspective are narrowed down and prioritized according to what appear to be either the most popular challenges raised against belief in the Christian God or the most difficult questions in need of answering (or some combination of the two). It is for this reason that he deals with the problem of evil and belief in a good God first. After perusing what philosophers, ethicists, theologians, and Old Testament authors have offered to this discussion (a practice he revisits in subsequent chapters), Blomberg argues that the New Testament highlights what God is doing in the midst of an evil and broken world.[3] The New Testament paints a picture of a God who is powerful and loving even in suffering and able to redeem the worst circumstances for greater purposes.[4] 

What of the unevangelized and the prospect of hell? Blomberg reveals (perhaps to the surprise of some in more fundamentalist/”restrictivist” communities) that the New Testament does not teach that no one is saved unless they have heard of Jesus. He also reveals that consciously trusting in Christ is not the same as finding forgiveness through Jesus’ atoning sacrifice on the cross.[5] Old Testament saints are the clearest example of this and Blomberg is shrewd to acknowledge that much of what is taught about salvation in the New Testament is constructed upon a foundation of Old Testament passages involving characters who never interfaced with Christ or knew is name. With this in mind, people ought not haughtily assume the conditions of someone’s heart and/or limit the means by which God can and has led people to salvation through his Son. Also, the author is quick to remind that hell is never said to be forced on someone against his/her will (nor is salvation forced on saints either for that matter). This conclusion pairs well with a discussion later on prayer and predestination in which Blomberg makes a compelling New Testament case for single predestination in which he concludes “we can never take ultimate credit for being saved, but we have only ourselves to blame for being lost.”[6] Such realizations are helpful as they successfully resect these theological challenges against Christian theism of some of their teeth.

            More current and emotional issues of slavery and gender roles are addressed next. Concerning slavery, Blomberg rightly points out that the New Testament is not a manual for political liberation as much as it is spiritual liberation.[7] That said, 1 Corinthians 7:21 and Philemon do teach that slaves should gain freedom when they can. Concerning gender roles, Blomberg carefully exposits certain “battleground” texts[8] and ultimately concludes that both what he calls a “soft complementarian” and a “soft egalitarian” perspective are defensible in Scripture.[9] Also, while the New Testament is univocal on is prohibition of homosexual behaviors, Blomberg argues that this should be kept separate from anything that would discriminate against a person simply for their sexual orientation. Most skeptics will welcome these thoughtful comments and analyses on such charged issues. What Blomberg offers in this discussion is especially thoughtful and refreshing among the existing literature and many would do well to thoroughly consider Blomberg’s presentation here.

            Next, the author expertly addresses several criticisms lodged against the Christian God based on the contents of Scripture. Concerning miracle accounts, the New Testament is shown to set itself apart from the existing ancient literature both in the frequency of the miracles described, the type of miracles performed, and the purpose these miracles serve as demonstrating the arrival of the kingdom of God (helping to prove that the Bible is not one of many old superstitious miracle books). Similar conclusions are shared in Blomberg’s discussion on how the narratives compare with extra-biblical legends. The author skillfully demonstrates that the New Testament story is birthed out of established Old Testament Judaism; it is not a result of plagiarizing pagan myths. Concerning the violence and warfare in the Scriptures, Blomberg suggests that this poses no real threat to the New Testament in particular. Such practices are elevated to a “spiritual plane”[10] and vindication is clearly defined as God’s prerogative to be ultimately satisfied in the final judgment.

            In his address of apparent contradictions in the Bible, Blomberg decides to deal with a few of the supposed examples of discrepancies found in the book of Acts.[11] What is learned from his analysis is that instead of contradictions, variations in accounts of the same story betray the kind of diversity that was acceptable when biographers/historians pieced together their narratives in the New Testament world. As Blomberg’s discussion broadens to include consideration of all textual variants, a good case for the accurate preservation of the New Testament (even in modern-day English translations) is also built.

            Blomberg’s final address is to those who resist believing in God on the grounds that they would rather be in control of their own lives. These believe that Christianity is a drag and that obedience to God is pleasure-robbing. However, as Blomberg correctly points out, freedom from God is slavery to sin[12] and it is only Christ who offers liberation from crippling anxiety and woeful purposelessness. While certainly the Christian life might (and probably should) include suffering, these are nothing compared to the eternal glory awaiting those who trust in the God of the Bible.[13]

            While all of Blomberg’s discussions are deserving of attention and helpful in making a well-rounded case for the God of the Bible from the New Testament, what proves most refreshing for this reviewer are those insights he offers on those issues that are not as nearly tethered to typical New Testament discussions (e.g. the problem of evil, slavery, gender roles, and same-sex relations, violence in the Bible). It is in these chapters where Blomberg’s contributions are greatest as he works to provide a more well-rounded and truly canonical address of these inquiries. His expertise displayed in these areas provides those who are seeking robust answers to difficult questions with the responsibly nuanced solutions necessary for engaging skeptics in our contemporary culture. For this, Blomberg’s work ought to be highly commended.

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Jeffrey Dickson, PhD studied Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University where he now serves as an adjunct professor of Bible and theology. Dr. Dickson is also the senior pastor of Crystal Spring Baptist Church in Roanoke VA where he lives with his wife Brianna and their children.

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[1] See Tim Keller’s The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism (New York: Riverhead Books, 2008), Ravi Zacharias, Can Man Live Without God? (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 1994), Andreas Kostenberger, Darrell Bock, and Josh Chatraw’s Truth in a Culture of Doubt: Engaging Skeptical Challenges to the Bible (Nashville, TN: B&H, 2014), or even Craig Blomberg’s Can We Still Believe in the Bible?: An Evangelical Engagement with Contemporary Questions (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2014).

[2] Craig Blomberg, Can We Still Believe in God?: Answering Ten Contemporary Challenges to Christianity (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2020), XIV, “What makes it (this volume) a bit distinctive is that it is written by someone whose academic training is primarily in New Testament studies. Most of the literature that addresses the kinds of questions tackled here is penned by theologians, philosophers, ethicists, and even Old Testament scholars.”

[3] Blomberg, Can We Still, 1-3.

[4] Blomberg, Can We Still, 10-11. Far from being aloof or inactive in the process of dealing with evil “the New Testament affirms that (God) did the most important thing of all in the past through Christ’s crucifixion, making it possible for believer in Christ in the future to live forever without any suffering or evil…Meanwhile, even now, in the present, he uses pain and suffering to help bring believers to maturity and to wake up the spiritually asleep so that they might turn to him.”

[5] See John 14:6; Acts 4:12.

[6] Blomberg, Can We Still, 157. See also his discussion in 109ff.

[7] Blomberg, Can We Still, 35.

[8] See 1 Cor 11:2–16; 1 Tim 2:11–15; Eph 5:22– 33.

[9] Blomberg, Can We Still, 38ff, 156.

[10] See Blomberg’s discussion on Eph 6:10–20 in Can We Still, 93ff.   

[11] These include the three accounts of Paul’s conversion, the three accounts of Peter with Cornelius, an the “three rehearsals of the apostolic decree.”

[12] Blomberg, Can We Still, 150.

[13] Rom 8:18.

Peace on Earth…

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests”

Trip back to the 1960’s: I am living without peace; so is much of the country. The inner turmoil convulsing in me mirrors the outer world; it is tearing at the inner seams.  Everything is topsy-turvy, upside-down, and wrong-side up.  Enduring principles, paragons, and precepts are disputed.  Is there no fixed point?  Moreover, America and the USSR are locked in a ‘Cold War’ from Berlin to Viet Nam; blacks struggle for equality; cities burn; and revolutionaries clash with the status-quo; even in my own family conflict surges: my parents, when not shouting at each other, are yelling at me.  The year is 1968 - it seems like 2020.  I have no peace.

The waring polarities - protester-establishment; male-female; black-white; young-old - converge with my inner turmoil.  People in the streets cry, ‘Peace, Peace’, but there is no peace.

In 1969 at nineteen, a watershed moment occurs:  my eyes are opened.  I see my problem - each person’s problem - I am estranged from God. “We were enemies” says the apostle Paul.  I am God’s rival every bit as much as Winston Churchill was Lady Astor’s. She said to him, “If I were your wife, I’d put poison in your tea.”  He replied, “Madam, if I were your husband, I’d drink it.”

I deny it.  Me, an enemy of God?  Ridiculous. What?  Am I not living as though I am the King of me?  A kingdom cannot have two kings.  Philosopher Bertrand Russell quipped, “Every man would like to be God if it were possible; some few find it difficult to admit the impossibility.”

Has not God declared, ‘I am God and there is no other”?  I am living de facto as God.  This is a recipe for war.  I own up to it: I am trying to be king in God’s country.  I am in a state of enmity with God.

Then I learn God did something to break the impasse: he sued for peace.  “While we were still sinners Christ died for us,” says the apostle Paul.  God comes at Christmas to give us Easter.  He comes in the flesh to bring peace; He comes to offer friendly relations with himself by dying an atoning death on a cross: “Peace on earth, mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled!”   Abraham Lincoln said, “Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?” God exchanges a “falling out” for friendship.  “God was pleased to reconcile to Himself all things” - even me - declares the apostle Paul. Jesus made friends with this enemy; his truce with me is everything.    Accepting this Prince of Peace has imparted peace that runs deeper than tempests.  Since then, my heart gladly exclaims, “Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace!”

Etched in my mind this Christmas is the 1972 iconic photograph of the naked nine year old girl, Kim Phuc Phan Thi, fleeing down a Viet Nam roadway shrieking in pain and fear with an ominous, dark, billowing napalm cloud behind her.  Scarred physically and emotionally from burns over her body, Phan prays to the god of Cao Dai for healing and peace.  There is no answer.  Either he is not interested, or not there.  Later, she is inside Saigon’s central library thumbing through religious books on Baha’i, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, and Cao Dai…then she picks up the New Testament.  She reads through the Gospels.  She is struck by Jesus.  He claims to be “the way, and the truth and the life.” He is tortured for his claim.  The more she reads the more she is convinced he would not suffer such things if he were not God.  As she continues to read the New Testament, she finds Jesus’ claim authentic.

On Christmas Eve 1982, she attends worship at a small church in Saigon - just minutes away from where she was bombed.  The pastor speaks of Christmas gifts but especially of the gift of Jesus Christ.  “How desperately I needed peace,” Phan says.  “I had so much hatred in my heart…I wanted to let go of all the pain…I wanted this Jesus”.  On the night before the birth of our Lord, she stands up, steps into the aisle, and strides to the front of the sanctuary.  She says ‘Yes’ to him, inviting “Jesus into my heart”.

When she awakes on Christmas morn, Phan says, “I was finally at peace”.   A half century after running down the Saigon road screaming in pain and fear, she celebrates the freedom and peace Jesus Christ gives.  Having been through unspeakable horrors, she realizes there is nothing greater than the love of our blessed Savior.  Fifty years later, this writer, though his circumstances are different from Phan’s, rejoices in the same peace of the Prince of Peace, proclaiming,

“Glory be to God on high, and peace on earth, descend; God comes down, he bows the sky, and shows himself our friend.”

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Tom is currently a retired Elder in the Virginia Annual Conference.  He has pastored churches in Virginia, California and England.  Studying John Wesley’s theology, he received his Ph.D. and M.A. degrees from the University of Bristol, Bristol, England and his Master of Divinity degree from Asbury Theological Seminary. While a student, he and his wife Pam lived in John Wesley’s Chapel “The New Room”, Bristol, England, the first established Methodist preaching house.  Tom was a faculty member of Asbury Theological Seminary. He has contributed articles to Methodist History and the Wesleyan Theological Journal. He and his wife have two children, daughter Karissa, who is an attorney in Richmond, Virginia, and, John, who is a recent graduate of Regent University.  Being a part of the development of their grandson Beau is a rich reward.  Tom enjoys a good book by a crackling fire with an English cup of tea.  His life text is, ‘Jesus, confirm my heart’s desire, to work and speak and think for thee’

Enduring Loss and the Hope of Glory

Buffy had been losing weight for a few weeks, but the procedure was supposed to be routine. Still, there we sat in the vet’s office listening to the doctor explain that our kitty just wasn’t recovering from her biopsy.

Her blood pressure and temperature were dangerously low, and our normally energetic, friendly cat could barely lift her head and seemed hardly even to recognize us. Her eyes were glazed over, her breathing labored.

My husband and I sat in the room numb, struggling to grasp how it could be that our ten-year-old, always healthy pet was now lying listless in an incubator as the vet did all she could to stimulate the healing process.

A few of the doctor’s words penetrated our mental fog, but they only added to our confusion: “We’re not ready to give up on Buffy yet,” “Let’s keep her in the emergency clinic overnight,” “Do you want to add a DNR?” We had no framework into which we could fit these statements, no sense of how this happened, let alone how to respond.

Buffy’s death followed soon after, and it was a devastating punch to the gut—no less because it came a week before our cross-country move. We had picked the house in Texas with Buffy in mind and had imagined her there, sitting next to David in his office while he worked as she so faithfully did in Lynchburg, hanging out with us while we watched TV, running around playing with the laser light. But now she wouldn’t be coming with us. It was a hard realization to take. Grief mingled with anger came quick, but the demands of the moment left little space for mourning.

Inside the house I was packing boxes while outside our son was digging Buffy a grave, a grave we would have to leave behind. The rapid approach of our moving day meant no time for a memorial, no time to be still and simply reflect on this precious cat’s life. I felt an impulse to rage against the meaninglessness of it all, but had no energy or mental space to generate the emotions.

Buffy’s death—so unexpected, so wrong, and yet so inescapable—somehow symbolized all I felt about this summer’s transition. There would be promising possibilities waiting for us in our new location and new positions, I knew, but what loomed larger for me at that moment was all I stood to lose with the move, and Buffy’s death underscored that loss, crystalizing and compounding it.

The comfort of home, the familiarity of Lynchburg, the intimate acquaintance with my late institution’s practices and policies: these would soon be no more. Harder still was moving 1,200 miles from my family and son and leaving behind friends and beloved colleagues. And all of this during a pandemic. This transition has been one of the most difficult experiences I’ve had to endure—with its logistical challenges, financial burdens, and emotional tolls.

Although I know on one level that the conditions at our past school would have made staying there more challenging in the long run, my longing for comfort and my visceral resistance to the loss entailed by our fresh start persisted and sometimes manifested in anger. I was angry that my many prayers for spiritual renewal at Liberty returned unanswered and seemingly unheard, that conditions worsened even.

I was angry that God’s answer to my pleas for deliverance involved so much loss and pain. And I was angry that those responsible for the unbearable conditions were either unaware of or unmoved by the pain they caused. Like Buffy’s death, it all just felt so wrong. It was hard to square with my vision of God, the one who cares and comforts, who sets things right. Why had he refused to set things right? Or, rather, why was the remedy he offered, this escape, so painful?

Over the summer, I wrestled with the paradox of trusting the redemption of my pain and loss—of Buffy, of our home in Lynchburg—to the same God who allowed that loss in the first place.

I know the biblical promises of the resurrection. I know that they apply not merely to the physical body  but also to the cosmos. “Behold, I make all things new,” Jesus says in Revelation. It’s a beautiful promise—life-giving in every sense of the phrase. But as much as I’ve professed my embrace of those truths, even earlier this summer in writing about the pandemic, Buffy’s loss conjoined with our move tested that faith. I am only now starting to believe that that testing strengthened it.

The pain I endured through Buffy’s loss and this transition has pushed me further in my recognition of how little I know of God’s redemption of the world or even of what in the world God has redeemed. Day by day I had to lean on God to provide the strength I lacked, the comfort for my hurts, and the hope to overcome my fears. It was a sobering time, too, as it forced me to confront my own self-entitlement, pride, and complacency.

I longed for God to prevent Buffy’s death and to accommodate my desire to remain in place. Truth is, Christianity teaches that real victory comes beyond death, not in bypassing it. I have said it before, I know it cognitively, but this summer I experienced that truth and now know it even deeper—even as I’m still learning of the restoration God will provide on this side of my loss.  

That really is the story of scripture, that God delivers us through suffering and loss not from it. Humanity’s ultimate deliverance, of course, comes from the ultimate suffering—the innocent suffering of Christ on the cross. The resurrection is, in fact, linear—death, and only then eternal life.

It’s a hard word in many ways. Who willingly embraces suffering? No one of their own strength and not for suffering’s sake alone. Instead, redemptive suffering requires our hearts to be set right—and it can serve to set our hearts right if we allow God to do a new work in us through it.

Thomas Merton in No Man Is an Island puts it this way:

If we love God and love others in him, we will be glad to let suffering destroy anything in us that God is pleased to let it destroy, because we know that all it destroys is unimportant. We will prefer to let the accidental trash of life be consumed by suffering in order that his glory may come out clean in everything we do.

If we love God, suffering does not matter. Christ in us, his love, his Passion in us: that is what we care about. Pain does not cease to be pain, but we can be glad of it because it enables Christ to suffer in us and give glory to his Father by being greater, in our hearts, than suffering would ever be.

So this summer was excruciating. I’m coming out of it—stronger, more experienced, better prepared for what God has ahead. But most of all, I’m even more confident that the eternal glory to come, of which I’ve seen only glimpses so far, truly will far outweigh these light and momentary afflictions (2 Corinthians 4:17).

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Marybeth Baggett is professor of English at Houston Baptist University and serves as associate editor for MoralApologetics.com. She earned her PhD in Literature and Criticism from Indiana University of Pennsylvania, and — along with her husband— recently has published The Morals of the Story: Good News about a Good God (IVP Academic, 2018).

4 Thoughts on Responding to Tragedy, Pain, and Suffering

Sometimes in life tragic news shatters our plans, alters the direction of our lives, leaves us with a string of unanswered questions, and causes us to lose hope for a period of time. News such as this oftentimes comes in the form of a text message, phone call, letter, social media post, medical prognosis—or in my own case, when my wife and I recently heard these seven words in an ultrasound room:

“I’m so sorry. There is no heartbeat.”

You see, my wife and I found out around the time of my birthday in late August that we were expecting our fourth child, only to realize a few weeks later in an ultrasound room that we were actually expecting our fourth and fifth children. We were going to be the parents of twins! I remember feeling a profound sense of excitement (and if I am honest, I also felt a bit overwhelmed).

About a month after our first ultrasound appointment, preparing to enter the ultrasound room for the second time, we were thrilled to see our twins and also hear their little hearts beat. The appointment began with a quick scan of the first baby, allowing us the opportunity to see how much our first baby had grown. We were also able to hear our first baby’s heartbeat. Everything appeared fine until the ultrasound technician shifted her attention to the second baby, where we soon realized that something was wrong. After a few moments of attempting to detect a heartbeat, the ultrasound technician broke the news to us that our second baby did not have a heartbeat. Following a few moments of unbelief (and perhaps even denial), my wife and I locked eyes as tears began rolling down each of our faces. We were devastated.

In the days since receiving this news, we have cried together, prayed together, and reflected upon God’s truths together. Although there are many truths that I could share in light of losing one of our twins, four thoughts have consumed my mind.

First, God empathizes with us in our pain. Hebrews 4:15 says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses…” Jesus Christ, our high priest, not only shows compassion to those of us who are hurting, he takes to himself a joint feeling of our weaknesses—because he himself endured suffering, loss, mockery, abandonment, and temptation. Jesus experienced not only physical suffering, but also spiritual, emotional, and relational hardship, among other things.

Have you been rejected by friends before? So has Jesus. Have you been made fun of before? So has Jesus. Have you been ridiculed for your beliefs? So has Jesus. Have you lost someone you loved? So has Jesus. Have you experienced physical, emotional, or relational pain? So has Jesus. And here is the one that has been most comforting for us recently: Have you lost a child? So has God the Father. Although there are many other ways in which God can empathize with us in our specific instances of pain and suffering, here is the bottom line: God knows what it is like to be in our shoes; he took on human flesh, becoming one of us and walking in our shoes, experiencing many of the difficulties that we face today. This enables him to empathize with us, proclaiming, “I understand what you are going through. It’s tough. I’ve been there before.”

Second, we can trust God in our “why” moments. There are times in life when we wonder why something (usually something bad) has happened. In our “why” moments, and in all other moments, we can trust God because of who he is. The character of God is the foundation of our faith in him. Of course, the same is true with a close friend or a spouse—we trust the character of these individuals when we do not know why they are asking us to do certain things, and again, it’s because of who they are. However, unlike our human acquaintances, God is entirely holy (Is. 6:3), good (Ps. 136:1), loving (1 Jn. 4:8), just (Is. 61:8), sovereign (Acts 4:24), omnipresent (Ps. 139:7), omnipotent (Jer. 32:27), gracious (Ex. 34:6-7), merciful (Ex. 34:6-7), unchanging (Mal. 3:6), personal (Gen. 3:8), and so on.

God is also omniscient, which means that he knows all things, including the answers to all of our “whys.” Although we may not know “why” something has happened, such as the loss of a child, we can still trust God who knows why. As we understand who God is on a deeper level, we come to realize that because of his character, we are able to trust him in those things that we do not know or understand. Why? Because of who he is; he is trustworthy.

Third, God gives us what we need most: himself. Having gone through several tragedies in my lifetime, I am not convinced that we would be entirely satisfied even if God revealed to us his reasons for allowing something to happen. With our “answer” in hand, we would still be missing what we need most: God himself.

The day that my wife and I received the news about our twin’s passing, I read Job 38-42 and reflected on these words from C. S. Lewis, found in Lewis’s Till We Have Faces: “I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice?”[1] This Lewis quote is very similar to what Job realizes about God in the last five chapters of the book of Job. Job does not get an answer; rather, he realizes that God is the Answer. What we need most in the face of tragedy is not an answer to a question; we need God, who is himself the Answer. God is not only what we need most, he is also what, or more correctly who, is best for us. Simply put, a mere answer in the form of a statement will not truly satisfy; we need something far greater: the Answer himself.

Fourth, God gives us others to help us through our pain. Oddly enough, in the week following the difficult news about our twin, I came across several newspaper clippings pertaining to my father’s sudden death in 1994. Despite reading each article carefully, one of the articles deeply moved me. The article, focusing on how the community where we lived in North Carolina at the time rallied around us, begins this way: “Sometimes the pain from a sudden tragedy can be made less hurtful by the love and acts of kindness which result.”

As human beings, we were never meant to go through life alone. God has given us others to help us through our pain, to meet the needs that we have, pray for us, encourage us, and so on. The pain that we experience as a result of something difficult in our lives is oftentimes either lessened or at least becomes more bearable when we allow others to minister to us amidst our pain. In the days since October 22, numerous family members, friends, coworkers, and students have come alongside us in order to weep with us, pray with us, encourage us, and bless us in so many other ways (meals, cards, etc.).

There is certainly a lot more that I could say, and I pray that God gives me opportunities to say more in the future—particularly to those who find themselves experiencing loss as we have experienced loss. For now, it is enough to remember that (1) God empathizes with us in our pain, (2) that we can trust God in our “why” moments, (3) that God gives us himself, and (4) that God provides others to help us through our pain. These four truths continue to assist us as we navigate the difficult season through which we are walking, and I am confident that these four truths will get us through whatever else may come our way in the future.

*Elyse Faith, our sweet girl who we never actually “met,” we love you and we cannot wait until the day we see you in heaven. Until then, we’ll cling to what your name means: faith in the promises of God.

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Stephen S. Jordan currently serves as a high school Bible teacher at Liberty Christian Academy, a Bible teacher and curriculum developer/editor at Liberty University Online Academy, and he oversees the curriculum development arm of The Center for Moral Apologetics at Houston Baptist University. He possesses four graduate degrees and is presently a PhD candidate at the Liberty University Rawlings School of Divinity, where he is writing his dissertation on the moral argument. He and his wife, along with their three children, reside in Goode, Virginia.

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[1] C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces (San Francisco, CA: HarperOne, 2017), 351.

Let Not Your Heart

My family arrives at Grandma’s house.  She exclaims as we pile out of the car, “The only thing about saying ‘hello’ is I’ve gotta say ‘goodbye’”.  Saying “hello” implies saying “goodbye”; arriving suggests leaving;  Jesus’ coming means Jesus’ going.  Why does Jesus leave? Why must life have such parting and departing, particularly at life’s end?

Jesus’ disciples wonder the same thing.  Thursday evening before he is crucified, Jesus says to his disciples, “Little children, I am with you only a little longer”.  “Lord, You just got here…you’ve been saying the last three years, ‘Follow me’.”  Now you’re saying the opposite, “Where I am going, you cannot follow me now…A little while, and you will no longer see me” Jesus’ disciples are in shock.  Jesus, the One whose Kingdom is to have no end and who “will reign over the house of Jacob forever”, is departing?

This is the background for Jesus’ heartwarming word to his disciples,  “Let not your heart be troubled.  Believe in God and believe also in me.  In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.  If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”

“Let not your heart be troubled” .  The word “troubled” is full of trouble: it pictures a horse confronting a coiled rattlesnake, or a hurricane agitating the sea.  Being left alone by the Savior to a world of darkness and terror troubles the heart.  What’s troubling you?  Today, I do not know anyone who is not troubled; indeed, Jesus himself was ‘troubled’.  At the ‘Last Supper’ as he foresees his betrayal, he ‘was troubled in spirit’.  The shade of meaning Jesus uses in the tense of his word, “do not be troubled”, looks beyond the troubling moment.  It is a commanding imperative coming out of eternity:  “Do not go on letting your heart be troubled”;  “do not persist in being troubled.”  Though the immediate impact of a coiled rattlesnake in your path makes your heart pound, do not continue to be agitated.  Why not?  That brings us to Jesus’ second imperative.  The first imperative only works because of this second imperative.  It is the antidote for your troubled heart:  “Believe in God and believe also in me.”  If you trust in God, you will trust in Jesus Christ.  If you trust in Jesus Christ, then you trust in God. Once this trust is established, then your future is established:  you are not only going to see Jesus again; you are going to be with Him again - forever!

“In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.  If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.” Look at the phrase, “In My Father’s House”.  In England, one refers to the British Royal Family as the ‘House of Windsor’.  Similarly, ‘my Father’s House’ refers not to a structure , but to the Father’s Family or his Kingdom.  ‘Father’s House’ is the Father’s realm where the Father resides.

Keeping that in mind,  consider further.  “In my Father’s house, there are many _____.”   There is no exact translation of the word left blank variously translated, ‘mansions’, ‘rooms’, or ‘dwelling places’; a better term is ‘traveler’s rest’.  The idea of ‘traveler’s rest’ seems to be a place where weary pilgrims on a long and trying journey find long-term sanctuary.   A ‘traveler’s rest’ is a haven removed from suffering, from the weary struggles of conflicts and battles, and the dangers of dark forces.

In JRR Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings , the Hobbit Frodo Baggins is on a perilous and strenuous odyssey to save the world from the Dark Forces. At a moment of impending death and capture, he is removed to safety to Rivendell.  Rivendell is a “traveler’s rest’ in a strategically fortified gorge offering him security and peaceful protection.  Here he convalesces in perfect safety.

Last October, my wife Pam and I had an ambitious day of travel.  We toured American Founder John Adams’ home and then drove across Boston.  Heading up into New Hampshire, we ambled around Robert Frost’s farm.  At early dusk, we arrived at our final destination, the New Hampshire country inn, Manor on Golden Pond .  In desperate need of country refuge and refreshment, we found a ‘traveler’s rest’!  We still savor the gourmet dinner in the elegant, paneled dining room; we see the view of Golden Pond out the picture window of our bedroom.

“In my Father’s house there are many permanent, traveler’s rests.”  Is there one for you?  Jesus says to his disciples, ‘I am departing to ready it for you.’  The Lord of Hosts is making up His disciple’s residence.  “If it were not so, I would have told you.’  This is a strong statement.  Jesus’ word is at stake.  One more thing:  ‘If I go and prepare a place for you, I am coming again and I will take you with me to my home.  So that where I am, there you may be also.’ 

Historically, English Lords, such as Lord Grantham in Downtown Abbey, invite people to their estates like ‘Downtown Abbey’ for ‘do’s’ - like his hunting party.  People come for days to the country and live off the hospitality of the Lord of the manor. 

The Lord of the heavenly realm has departed to go ahead of his disciples; He’s preparing eternal residences - ‘traveler’s rests’ - even one for you!  He very much wants you to join him there.  So that where He is, ‘there you may be also’.  Don’t you want to be with Him and his friends?  Knowing this means, you only have one final parting, and then no more ever again.  In the meantime, ‘do not go on letting your heart be troubled...trust in God and trust in Jesus Christ!

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Tom is currently a retired Elder in the Virginia Annual Conference.  He has pastored churches in Virginia, California and England.  Studying John Wesley’s theology, he received his Ph.D. and M.A. degrees from the University of Bristol, Bristol, England and his Master of Divinity degree from Asbury Theological Seminary. While a student, he and his wife Pam lived in John Wesley’s Chapel “The New Room”, Bristol, England, the first established Methodist preaching house.  Tom was a faculty member of Asbury Theological Seminary. He has contributed articles to Methodist History and the Wesleyan Theological Journal. He and his wife have two children, daughter Karissa, who is an attorney in Richmond, Virginia, and, John, who is a recent graduate of Regent University.  Being a part of the development of their grandson Beau is a rich reward.  Tom enjoys a good book by a crackling fire with an English cup of tea.  His life text is, ‘Jesus, confirm my heart’s desire, to work and speak and think for thee’.

The Withered Hand

Here recently, emotions come on me like an Imperial Star Destroyer out of lightspeed.  I’m good one minute, and the next I need to sit down and deal with the lump in my throat.  No warning, no spinning thoughts, no sleepless nights, no nothing.  Boom.  The Empire is there to destroy me.

Until COVID hit, everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Job was going alright, the kids are growing, my wife still likes me.  From a stage-of-life standpoint, I had challenges that I needed to face, but those challenges gave me hope and energy.

Then, well, COVID. 

I’m an introvert, so spending days upon days by myself is what I like to call pretty neat-o. I teach English, so I basically read and write for a living.  I love teaching, but I’m usually pretty exhausted by the end of a class or two. And I’m even one of those very annoying people who got even more accomplished without the constant distractions and, well, people. During COVID, I got stuff done. Good stuff.  Stuff I deeply believe that God wanted me to do and was pleased with me for.

So, why was I miserable? 

Well, as I write this, I have no idea. I’m a rather positive person, so being miserable is new.  I’m not one to sing “Everything is Awesome” wherever I go, but I might hum it under my breath.  I can usually see an opening, a light.  In my world, things are rarely ever hopeless.

As my emotional pit deepened, I tried everything to understand and deal with the incredibly strong, powerful emotions I was feeling: I took walks, I sat on my deck, I worked, I hung with family, I tried to control them with schedules I came up with, I presented them with my over-the-top expectations for their behavior, I did it all. . .

I still felt miserable.

When I was growing up, there was a very common song that we sang, with this lyric: “Every day with Jesus is sweeter than the day before.”  Without offering any commentary on the song, I will say that, here recently, this has certainly NOT been my experience.  Some days with Jesus are better, but some days aren’t.  I was taught that the promise of salvation and the hope of eternity was enough for any rough day I might encounter.  But here I was, during a time of tremendous grief and stress (worldwide grief and stress, mind you) being crippled emotionally.  Seriously, I should have been doing great, but every day seemed tougher than the day before.  And I believe Jesus was with me on this.

So, I went to the elders at my church (I’m one of them), and I told them how I was feeling and that I needed professional counseling. I wouldn’t say they knew it was coming, but none of them seemed surprised, either.  They’d seen me, over the previous handful of years, survive a couple strokes and then talk about the changes that ensued: my job, my marriage, the kids, the works.  To this point, I had done whatever I thought was wise so I could heal.  We bring everything to our meeting: confessions of sin, frustrations over jobs, parenting challenges, even finances.  Nothing, really, is off the table. 

They listened and prayed that God would help me in this.

Then, just like my quick-appearing emotions, it came to me.  The miracle where Jesus healed the man with the withered hand. The Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke each has an account of this particular miracle. Jesus was at the synagogue on the Sabbath. Jesus asks the man to show everyone his hand. I asked myself: everyone knew about this guy’s hand, right?  He’d been seen at the synagogue, probably more than once. This guy probably wasn’t there by accident, and I’m guessing he was a regular fixture there. The context is clear, too: Jesus asked the man to show his withered hand so that everyone could see what he was about to do. 

Yet, I wonder: was there a small part of that bit of theater meant for the man? To be sure, the rest of the scene deals with the reactions of the religious folks and the crowd.  But Jesus ignores all of them to make that request. I imagine Jesus looking at the man, and everyone else kind of disappearing for that moment: “stretch out your hand.” Did the man do it immediately? Did his hand shake? Did he have a queasy nervousness before he did it?

This man had lived his life with this withered hand, and I’m sure he’d lived his life around it, too.  There wasn’t a blue-collar/white collar divide. He couldn’t pick up a desk job because he couldn’t work a manual labor trade.  Everything was a manual labor trade, and he had to get on with life if he was ever going to live.  He had to cope.  Nothing was going to change.

I think, in some way, Jesus was showing that this man was going to be healed, but he also required the man to show his withered hand to show everyone else that he needed healing. He wasn’t ok. The man’s life was as bent as his hand, and he needed to look at it again, so Jesus could do something about it.  Too often, I live my life that way: working around and over the places in my life where I must simply face the fact that I need healing. 

Being overly optimistic while ignoring the difficulties of a particular situation is a guide  for living a half-life or no life at all.  In his book Good to Great, Jim Collins interviews Admiral Jim Stockdale, where they discuss Stockdale’s torture while he lived as a POW in the concentration camp dubbed “The Hanoi Hilton” in Vietnam.  During the interview, Stockdale described the personal discipline it took to survive such a brutal—and long lasting—lifestyle.  His description for what it takes to succeed has taken on the name “The Stockdale Paradox”:  “You must never confuse the faith that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality.”

It’s strange to say it, but I believe one key weakness that I’ve been living around is that I’m too positive.  I haven’t looked at the difficulty in my life, as easy as my life seems to be, in comparison to, say, Jim Stockdale’s torture.  That’s why I’m not making that comparison.  I’m actually comparing myself to the men who, according to Stockdale, didn’t make it.

I’ve been looking at everything in the world, due to COVID (sickness, death, anger, financial ruin, frustration, arrogance, all of it), and I find myself quickly imagining how things would be when all of this is over. That, friends, is deadly. In fact, Stockdale claims that the people who died quickest in the Hanoi Hilton were the ones who were the most optimistic—they imagined getting out by Christmas, then by Easter, July 4, and so on.  According to Admiral Stockdale, they died of a broken heart.

But my approach to my own pain, is not just a symptom of humanity, it’s very much a symptom of the brand of Christianity I find myself in, the brand of Christianity that is quick to paper over pain and hardship in favor of a “God is in control!” statement or a “He’s coming back soon” encouragement or even an “I see God working” prophecy.  In his book Recapturing the Wonder, Mike Cosper describes this brand of the Christian life: “Many pastors and writers paint a picture of the Christian life that is much more akin to a Thomas Kinkaid painting: everything bathed in amber light, flowers blooming even in the snow, everything peaceful and picturesque.”

In contrast to that picture, Jesus demands to see what’s broken or hurting or not working anymore.  As my wife says, “you have to reveal it before you can heal it.”

But Jesus himself, at different times in his life, asked for evidence of the pain that people around him suffered.  He knew about that pain, so it must have been for the benefit of the person who needed to be delivered.  Of course, even as he asks to see the withered parts of our lives, Jesus personifies the reality that we will prevail.

My Dear Apologist: Please, Be Patient.

Sadly, patient reflection and careful nuance are rare in an age where mobile devices are ubiquitous and social media platforms make it possible to broadcast every moment in real time. Never have so many been able to say so little of substance with so much immediacy. We are awash in a sea of memes, gifs, emojis, sound bites, and two to three worded answers smugly put forth in response to questions that fill books and libraries and have been asked for generations across cultures. Ours is the realm of blind consumers of the “digital now” where the one-eyed social media influencer with the latest quip and clever mantra is king. This is the context in which contemporary apologists are called to give the reason for the hope that is in them.[1] In this context it is the patient apologist, the one who is deliberate and thorough in her holy vocation, she is the one the Lord will use in a lasting way. So, I say to you, my dear apologist: please, be patient.

We must remember that the gospel we are called to reasonably present with passion and genuine concern can be made to appear ugly when its messengers—those who are called as ambassadors of the One whose character is marked by gentleness and longsuffering—become impatient. Urgency is one thing, and an important one to be sure; but impatience is different from urgency. Impatience blinds us to the value of the journey we make with our interlocutors, leaving us to think that all that matters is making a point about this or that issue and coming out on top in the argument. Impatience wants to win the argument, while patient urgency serves the argument in helping win the person.

Or, and this is what may be the most insidious side of impatience when it comes to apologetics, we can become impatient with ourselves and decide it is just too difficult to be an apologist. The voice of this type of impatience says to us, “Look at how hard this is. Learning how to think, to argue with logic and persuasion, to represent the claims of the Bible reasonably and charitably—this is best left to others. If you were truly called to this, it would be easier for you; it would come more quickly. Best to leave this business of apologetics to others. You’re just not suited for it, after all.” This type of impatience hopes to silence the apologetic voice God has given you, eventually leaving you with only a few truncated one-line apologetic answers that do little good. Or, worse, leading you to hastily pass along the scattered thoughts of immature apologists who may exhibit a caustic tone amplified by their own strident impatience and failure to yet grasp the sacred gravitas of the apologetic endeavor. The end result is a dialogue that reduces to diatribe, an opportunity that becomes an affront, a relationship with a seeker that ends before it has a chance to begin.

Whichever type of impatience you see in yourself, and maybe it’s both, I hope you will take the time to carefully internalize what I have come to learn as the Top Ten Helps for the Impatient Apologist. (I hasten to add that these are known by me precisely because I have been known to struggle with my own demons of impatience, and I speak from first-hand experience concerning the failures wrought in my own apologetic endeavors.)

Top Ten Helps for the Impatient Apologist

1.       Take the time and effort to learn the nuance of your arguments, both yours and your opponent’s. Nothing of substance in the apologetic realm is learned without time and effort. Commit to the process. Be patient.

2.       Write out your thoughts in full sentences, paragraphs, pages, and invite critique and dialogue from trusted advisors before you share them to a larger audience. Hone your skills. Be patient.

3.       Do not respond to a critic or enquirer too quickly, or without reflection. Your goal is not to save face or look smarter than someone else, but to manifest the longsuffering, persuasive love of God. Allow time. Be patient.

4.       Invest in the conversation, and do not give in to the temptation to put forth shallow or simplistic answers that may appear to win the momentary battle of words but will likely lose the war of influence. Truth matters. Be patient.

5.       Apologetics is a journey, not a moment. Yes, there will be important moments, but play the long game and cultivate the habit of seeing beyond the current moment to the eternal one. Urgency is not impatience. Be patient.

6.       Your audience as an apologist is, in the final analysis, the Lord. He loves you, and he is patient with your development as a defender of the good news. See him in the face of the other. Be patient.

7.       Do not give the enemy a voice in your head, in your heart. He wants you hurried, careless, easily offended, and unfocused. Silence him with patience. Be patient.

8.       Use social media judiciously and with careful reflection when it comes to apologetic engagement. Remember that what you post reflects you and your Lord. Do not be afraid to use social media, but do not misuse it. Be patient.

9.       If you use another apologist’s work, make sure you know what it says and what it means. Take the time to be taught by others. We are in this together. Be patient.

10.   When faced with the choice of speaking the truth impatiently now or speaking the truth in patient love later, always choose love. Now is not always best, and later is not always last. Be patient.

Friends, the struggle with impatience is one that takes…well…patience. It is worth the struggle, and our efforts as apologists only improve when put forth with longsuffering and patience. The urgency of the gospel and the need to passionately reason with others demands our careful patience. The church, and the world, need patient apologists.

I say to you again, my dear apologist: please, be patient.

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T. J. is an assistant editor for MoralApologetics.com and oversees the church and pastor development arm of the Center for Moral Apologetics. A southern Illinois native, T. J. has been in pastoral ministry since 1984, currently serving as senior minister of First Christian Church, West Frankfort, IL, where he resides with his wife, Amy, and their five children. A retired Army National Guard chaplain, he is the author of several books and articles on preaching, counseling, evangelism, apologetics, philosophy, and pastoral ministry. He earned the PhD in Leadership and DMin in Pastoral Counseling from Carolina University; the MA in Apologetics from Luther Rice College and Seminary; the MA in Philosophy from Holy Apostles College and Seminary; the MAR in Church Ministries, MDiv in Chaplaincy, and ThM in Theology from Liberty University; the BA in Political Science from Southern Illinois University; and is finishing his dissertation at North-West University for the PhD in Theology, and at Carolina University for his PhD in Biblical Studies. 

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[1] 1 Pet. 3:15.

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My Dear Apologist: Please, Be Kind.

Sometimes, apologetics can be a nasty business. Discussions devolve. Words frustrate. People become entrenched long before the evidence warrants even a tentative conclusion. Pathways of engagement are marked by incivility, arrogance, and meanness. As I said, sometimes, apologetics can be a nasty business.

Don’t believe me? Take ten minutes and peruse social media feeds and look for what I describe. Oh, it’s there. Many times, the nastiness comes from the unbelievers in the conversation, lashing out in disagreement with the apologist’s claims. Their words are often along these lines…

Resurrection? Yeah, right. Don’t be ridiculous.

You have no evidence for your so called “god.” Don’t be so naïve, so simple, so stupid.

The Bible is a joke, a fable, a concoction of misogynistic power mongers bent on controlling the masses.

Frankly, such responses from unbelievers should not surprise us, nor should they deter us. Further, while there may be many mean-spirited interlocutors whose dismissive invectives make dialogue difficult if not impossible, there are also those who genuinely want to discuss the substantive issues. Not every unbeliever is animated by shallow sound bites and cliched tropes. Many are kind and, dare I say, sympathetic to the apologist’s calling and concern for others. Besides, even when an unbeliever is difficult to engage, should that be such a surprise to us? Apologetics is, after all, carried out amid the unseen realm of spiritual warfare. Shouldn’t we expect difficulty from unbelievers…and from the powers of darkness that often motivate unbelief? I think so. I expect unbelievers to act like unbelievers, and I’m delighted when they are kind, but not put off when they aren’t. Such are the hazards of this calling.

What I’m concerned with is the believers I observe. Those who, for whatever reasons, have decided that it’s okay to become snarky and curt with their interlocutors. They’ve concluded that there is nothing wrong with a dismissive remark or a cutting ad hominem, so long as the point is made in favor of the winning side. It seems they thrive on the grit and terseness of one-line zingers directed to their opponent. Here are some examples that I have actually heard from apologists—from Christians—and these are the mild ones…

Only an idiot would fail to see the evidence for the resurrection. Only an idiot!

Your refusal to accept the evidence is simply a matter of your spiritual rebellion. You have no logical basis for rejecting what I say. You’re just a rebel with unclear thoughts…and you are intellectually lazy!

The fact that you reject the Bible is more about your total ignorance of history than anything else. It doesn’t take much ability to see that your claims about difficulties in the Bible are simply misguided and foolish. Your argument is hardly even an argument!

I suspect the idea of someone talking like this perplexes most of you, and you just cannot imagine ever taking such an approach. However, perhaps you don’t think such words are problematic at all, and maybe you agree with those who use them and similar ones to challenge their opponents in the battle of ideas. You may wonder, “But what about Jesus? Didn’t he use strong words with his opponents? After all, calling the Pharisees a ‘brood of vipers’[1] is not exactly soft pedaling, is it?”

Well, I grant you that Jesus spoke directly to the heart of his opponents, and his words were clear and forceful. He did not dance around the issues when it came to confronting the corrupt religious leaders of his day, and there may be an example in Jesus’ approach for us to follow. Yet, and this is an important qualifier, Jesus’ mission was unique, his abilities divine, his knowledge perfect, and his judgment always correct. And, lest we forget, he did rebuke his disciples upon the occasion of their wanting to call down fire in an Elijah-like manner and destroy an inhospitable Samaritan village, reminding his overzealous followers that he “did not come to destroy men’s lives but to save them.”[2]

Seems to me that Jesus was more concerned to be careful with the unbelieving and doubting than to silence their opposition and “put them in their proper place.” His motive was more about love than anything else, and even his challenge to the religious leaders was animated by a desire for their conversion. Did he not weep, crying out “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together…but you were not willing!”?[3] Did he not petition his Father to “forgive them, for they do not know what they do”?[4] Was it not to the Jews first that he sent the gospel messengers on the Day of Pentecost, beseeching them through Peter to “Repent, and let every one of you be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins”?[5]

It is kindness, dear apologist, kindness that is needed in our cultural moment. What our interlocutors need is not the sting of our truth devoid of love, but our kindness. Do they also need our clear thinking? Of course. Our rational and impassioned argumentation? Certainly. But now is not the time for impatient and caustic words. Now is the time for kindness. What is most called for in this moment is a convincing position delivered with gentleness and tact, intentionally expressing the goodness of God through kindness in our demeanor, our tactics, and our words. Kindness is countercultural, and it is what the world needs from us now as ever.

Surely, Paul’s insight is one for all of us, especially those who are wont to a sharpness of tongue in apologetic dialogue: “God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance.”[6] Kindness is the language of God’s love, and I am absolutely certain that none of us will ever stand before God and regret giving our reasons for the hope that is within us in a kind and charitable manner.

Again, I say to you: My dear apologist, please, be kind.

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T. J. is an assistant editor for MoralApologetics.com and oversees the church and pastor development arm of the Center for Moral Apologetics. A southern Illinois native, T. J. has been in pastoral ministry since 1984, currently serving as senior minister of First Christian Church, West Frankfort, IL, where he resides with his wife, Amy, and their five children. A retired Army National Guard chaplain, he is the author of several books and articles on preaching, counseling, evangelism, apologetics, philosophy, and pastoral ministry. He earned the PhD in Leadership and DMin in Pastoral Counseling from Carolina University; the MA in Apologetics from Luther Rice College and Seminary; the MA in Philosophy from Holy Apostles College and Seminary; the MAR in Church Ministries, MDiv in Chaplaincy, and ThM in Theology from Liberty University; the BA in Political Science from Southern Illinois University; and is finishing his dissertation at North-West University for the PhD in Theology, and at Carolina University for his PhD in Biblical Studies. 

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[1] Matt 12:34 NKJV

[2] Luke 9:56 NKJV

[3] Matt. 23:37 NKJV

[4] Luke 23:34 NKJV

[5] Acts 2:38 NKJV

[6] Rom. 2:4 ESV

My Dear Apologist: Please, Be Yourself.

I sense there is a strong temptation among fellow apologists to try to be like someone else in their efforts to present the truth claims of the Christian faith. Rather than following King David’s example of refusing Saul’s armor in the fight against Goliath and choosing instead to use the simple sling and smooth stones he knew so well, an apologist may try to parrot this or that popular speaker or author. In doing so, they risk losing something that the world needs more than an imitation of someone else; they risk losing their unique voice in the apologetic arena.

I have been there, and I understand the temptation.

I originally thought, going back nearly four decades, that my goal should be to memorize and imitate the then-current apologetic arguments and style of successful apologists like Josh McDowell, Paul Little, or Norman Geisler. I even went through a time when I attempted to become the redivivus of C. S. Lewis, Pascal, and Anselm. To be sure, all these men are capable and effective apologists, certainly worthy of emulation in many, many areas. Yet, my mistake was to try to recreate what they did and who they were, and that is impossible. God called them to a specific task at a specific time, and my calling was not the same. I cannot be anyone other than me. So,  after several poor attempts at being someone else, I decided that the best I could be was me…just me.

It was about the same time that a wise pastor shared something with me that I took to heart and have never forgotten. I was preparing a series of sermons for a revival campaign, and, in the course of discussions with the host pastor, I explained that I was considering using a number of outlines I found in an evangelistic preaching book as the basis for my sermons. The pastor looked at me for a moment, then spoke with clarity and a bit of forcefulness these words, “It’s fine to look at another man’s work and learn from it, but never forget that God has something to say through you, and he wants you to say it in your way, not someone else’s.” And just like that, my heart was pierced, and my mind was opened. I learned that day that God gave me a voice, and he wanted—expected—that I would use it and not try to use some other voice and pass it off as my own.

Here is how I have taken that counsel to heart as an apologist, and what I hope you will learn from my journey in coming to be myself.

1.      It is fine and good to learn from other apologists, to study their arguments, to internalize their methods. The goal, however, is not to parrot or repeat them; the goal is to learn from them and integrate that learning into your own message. And when you are following the path of another apologist, be up front and open about it. Do not plagiarize a person.

2.      Remember that the people you are privileged to serve and encounter in your apologetics context are likely in one of two categories. They either do not know who you are trying to imitate and will think it odd that you are not simply being yourself with them, or they do know who you are trying to imitate and will realize you are not the same as the apologists you copy (and this last group may feel you are being a bit shady by not being yourself).

3.      None of us are as good as all of us when it comes to apologetics, so find your niche in the apologetics arena and serve there. Be you in the place where God has called you, and let the others be who they are where God has called them. God will not ask you to give an account for another person’s calling, but he will ask you about yours.

Again, I say to you: my dear apologist, please, be yourself. The world needs you.

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T. J. is an assistant editor for MoralApologetics.com and oversees the church and pastor development arm of the Center for Moral Apologetics. A southern Illinois native, T. J. has been in pastoral ministry since 1984, currently serving as senior minister of First Christian Church, West Frankfort, IL, where he resides with his wife, Amy, and their five children. A retired Army National Guard chaplain, he is the author of several books and articles on preaching, counseling, evangelism, apologetics, philosophy, and pastoral ministry. He earned the PhD in Leadership and DMin in Pastoral Counseling from Carolina University; the MA in Apologetics from Luther Rice College and Seminary; the MA in Philosophy from Holy Apostles College and Seminary; the MAR in Church Ministries, MDiv in Chaplaincy, and ThM in Theology from Liberty University; the BA in Political Science from Southern Illinois University; and is finishing his dissertation at North-West University for the PhD in Theology, and at Carolina University for his PhD in Biblical Studies. 

God is Light

The concept of light and dark, and their contrast, are found throughout the pages of Scripture. From the opening verses of Genesis, one finds God speaking light into the void of darkness (Gen. 1:3). Over time, God manifested himself to humanity often using light and fire to indicate his presence. God is often identified with light. Isaiah writes, “The Lord will be your everlasting light, and our God will be your glory” (Isa. 60:19). The psalmist notes, “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear” (Ps. 27:1). God is robed with light (Ps. 104:2) and light dwells with him (Dan. 2:22). John, more explicitly, notes, “God is light, and there is absolutely no darkness in him” (1 John 1:5). While God is light, his presence is not restricted from knowing dark areas. The psalmist pines, “Even the darkness is not dark to you. The night shines like the day; darkness and light are alike to you” (Ps. 139:12). Thus, God’s light and his insight penetrates and overcomes even the darkest of areas.

Jesus picks up on this theme and teaches two profound truths. First, he holds that he is light, saying, “I am the light of the world. Anyone who follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). As such, Jesus shows that he embodies God’s revelation and his goodness. Second, Jesus also instructs his followers, noting, “You are the light of the world. A city situated on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matt. 5:14). The disciples were to be evangelists sharing the gospel and spreading the love of God to the world. I used to think that believers are mere reflections of the light of God, much as the moon reflects the light of the sun. While I still think there is some merit to the claim, an understanding of the Spirit’s work in our lives illustrates the idea that the light shines from the inworking of the Spirit in our lives. As such, we are like torches that flame the light of God in the areas where God places us. More on that to come.

What does it mean to say that “God is light?” Obviously, with the emphasis of divine light that has already been noted in Scripture, God’s light must hold some weighty meaning. Concerning the light of God, three things can be said of God’s light.

God’s Light is Revelatory. First, God’s light reveals the truth. God exposes things as they truly are. On the one hand, God’s light reveals the truth about reality. The psalmist notes that God’s truthful direction is a “lamp for my feet and a light on my path” (Ps. 119:105). As such, God provides wise instruction on how to handle life’s most difficult circumstances. In addition, the Spirit of God, or the “Spirit of truth” (John 14:17), sheds his light on the believer by guiding them into the truth (John 16:12-14).

On the other hand, the light of God reveals wrong behaviors by exposing sin. The Spirit also is known to shedding divine light onto individuals by convicting the world about sin, righteousness, and judgment (John 16:8-11). Jesus said that it was for this reason that those who loved evil abhorred the light of God, for they feared that their deeds would be exposed (John 3:20). Ironically, the light of God will eventually expose every deed anyhow, regardless of whether one tries to hide their misdeeds or not.

God’s Light is Relational. God’s light often refers to divine holiness. Worded another way, God’s light reveals that he is the absolute good. As previously noted, this was part of John’s teaching concerning the light of God in his first letter. God’s holiness is viewed by Paul to be an “unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see” (1 Tim. 6:16). The unapproachability of God was overcome by the work of Christ on the cross by making people righteous so that they can boldly approach the throne of grace (Heb. 4:16). Because of the work of Christ, people can now shine the light of God in a world of darkness.

God’s Light is Rousing. By rousing, I do not infer the idea of a crowd enamored by a well-performed theatrical play. Rather, the term refers here to the giving of life. The symbol of light often referred to life in contrast to sorrow, adversity, or death (Ellis, NBD, 690). To see God’s light was to live (Job 3:16; Ps. 49:19). To walk in God’s light is to walk in the “light of life” (Ps. 56:24; Job 33:30). Light to the eyes is considered the gift of physical life that God grants to all (Prov. 29:13). As such, it is unsurprising that God’s presence is shown to be an effervescent, radiant light (Rev. 1:9-20; 4:1-11).

The concept of God’s light did not stem from Hellenistic thought but was deeply rooted in Judaism. Such is evidenced in the usages of light in the OT and the Qumran texts (e.g., War of the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness). Could it be that some sages of philosophy (i.e., Socrates and Plato) and the writers of the inspired Word both caught a glimpse of God’s transcendent light? Even if such is true, the full revelation of God would be found in his Word.

Nonetheless, I come now to the application of the article. I am sure you have heard the song This Little Light of Mine. The lyrics read, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.” God often places us in dark situations and circumstances so that our light will shine brighter. Our world is becoming a dark place to reside. Not only do we have a pandemic, but we also have national uprisings and cities in complete turmoil. Why has God decided to place us in this time and place? While there have certainly been darker times in world history, God has placed us in such a time as this to allow our lights to shine for God’s glory. Things may not be easy for a while. However, the light of God filling us and guiding us will truly be a “lamp unto our feet and a light unto our paths” (Ps. 119:105).

No matter what you may face today, this week, this month, or the remainder of this year; decide today that you will let the light of God shine through your life. Don’t be overcome by the darkness of the world, but rather overcome the darkness with the light of God’s glory. Then, we can all sing together, “Won’t let Satan blow it out, I’m gonna let it shine. Won’t let Satan blow it out, I’m gonna let it shine. Won’t let Satan blow it out, I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!”

Ellis, E. E. “Light,” New Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. R. W. Wood, et. al. Leicester, England; Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 1996.

About the Author

Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, and the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics. He received his Master of Divinity in Theology from Liberty University (with high distinction); his Bachelor of Science in Religious Studies and Philosophy from Gardner-Webb University (with honors); and received certification in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Brian is enrolled in the Ph.D. program in Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University and is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has been in the ministry for nearly 20 years and serves as the Senior Pastor of Westfield Baptist Church in northwestern North Carolina.

https://www.amazon.com/Laymans-Manual-Christian-Apologetics-Essentials/dp/1532697104

© 2020. BellatorChristi.com.

The Morality of Mystery

In the digital age of mass information and social media, the cultural values of openness, sharing one’s truth, expressing one’s feelings, and sticking up for oneself have begun to drown out other important values that keep these supposed virtues in check.  Patience, reflection, nuance, restraint, and the like are scarce, but perhaps none are rarer than mystery and/or discretion. After reconsidering discretion in the framework of the Christian worldview, this article will argue that mystery is not always a problem in need of solving, but a much-needed biblical and theological virtue characteristic of and encouraged by the ultimate good (God himself). As mystery, rightly understood, is morally good, employing it in today’s world of total transparency will go a long way in flattening the curve of caustic commentary that is currently inhibiting human flourishing.

The God of Mystery

            Christian theism has long celebrated God as a personal being who has revealed himself by means of the world he created (Rom 1:18-20), the Scriptures he breathed (2 Tim 3:16-17), and in the Word made flesh (Jn 1:1-4; Col 1:15). Hebrews 1:1-2 highlights these methods of revelation when it says “God, after He spoke long ago to the fathers in the prophets in many portions and in many ways, in these last days has spoken to us in His Son, whom He appointed heir of all things, through whom also He made the world.” Though the fallout of Spinoza’s radical transcendentalizing, Newton’s deistic cosmological dualism, and Kant’s disjunction between the noumenal and phenomenal has recently called into question God’s ability to speak and even then in a way that human beings could intelligibly discern, an even more recent resurgence in trinitarian theology and developments in speech act theory has provided Christians newfound confidence in divine revelation via robust theological and philosophical considerations.[1] That said, one of the things that has been divinely revealed is that God has not disclosed everything (not even close). This does not betray incompleteness or insufficiency on his part, but a character choice he has made in keeping with his goodness.

For instance, mysteries permeate scripture. Often mysteries are introduced by God through confusing visions and solved in prophecies (Dan 2:18, 19, 27, 28, 29, 30, 47; 4:9; Rev 1:20; 17:7). In other cases, important theological quandaries previously left unexplained are elucidated (Rom 16:25; 1 Cor 15:51; Eph 1:9; 3:3, 4, 9; 5:32; 6:19; Col 1:26, 27; 2:2; 1 Tim. 3:16). While God is free to solve mysteries as he wills and, on some occasions, desires his solutions to be shared (Rom 11:25; Col. 4:3), often explanations are reserved for a select group and not disclosed to everyone (Mt 13:11; Mk 4:11; Lk 8:10). Still, some mysteries are left unsolved (Eccl 7:24; Dan 12:4; Rev 10:4).

Running complementary to the theme of mystery is the motif of concealment.  One of the first actions taken by God on behalf of humanity following their creation involved the production of garments to cover the nakedness of Adam and Eve following the fall in the Garden of Eden—‘’the Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife, and clothed them” (Gen 3:21). These concealing coverings are no small matter. Earlier in the narrative, immediately upon eating the forbidden fruit, the text reads, “Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were asked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loin coverings” (Gen 3:7). Something about the sin of this first couple (a sin which came after being tempted to be like God and involved eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil) rendered them unable to cope with the juxtaposition of how God created them and the surrounding world they broke. This sent them hiding and clamoring for relief in crudely fabricated rags. Out of his abundant grace, God provided Adam and Eve with an upgraded wardrobe that covered their nudity and, more importantly, their shame, allowing them some measure of respite from their debilitating preoccupation with their naked bodies. By keeping certain things hidden, mankind was able, at least in part, to live with the knowledge they had illegitimately obtained. Here, concealment and subsequent mystery proves to be a good graciously offered by God.

Later, the God-Man is shown concealing himself and leaving certain statements or actions unexplained. For example, after Jesus performed many miracles and foreshadowed his death, Luke 9:45 states, “But they did not understand this statement, and it was concealed from them so that they would not perceive it; and they were afraid to ask Him about this statement.” In one episode of his ministry, immediately upon confirming that he was the Messiah, Jesus instructed his disciples not to tell anyone (Mt 16:20; Mk 8:29-30; Lk 9:20-21). Sometimes Jesus asks those who received a word/miracle from him not to share it with others (Mt 8:1-4; Mk 1:40-44; Lk 5:12-15). There are even examples of Jesus concealing himself entirely (Lk 4:30; 24:13-35; Jn 5:13). The accounts of his life are also incomplete, leaving much a mystery. John’s remarks at the end of his gospel are telling—“And there are also many other things which Jesus did, which if they were written in detail, I suppose that even the world itself would not contain the books that would be written” (Jn 21:25). Though possible motivations behind these examples and interpretations of their meaning run the gamut, one thing is for certain: Christ did not endorse unchecked transparency and at times chose to remain, in part, hidden.[2] His discretion is utilized in many different settings for the purpose of accomplishing the will of the Father in the divinely prescribed way and time.[3]

            Pervasive mystery and concealment in the scriptures by both the Father and the Son are not just activities in which God engages, but are indicative of who God is (at least in part). As John reveals, “No one has seen God [that is, the Father] at any time…” (Jn 1:18). This is probably because, as God tells Moses, “no man can see Me and live!” (Exod. 33:20). This is why Job concludes, “Were He to pass by me, I would not see Him; were He to move past me, I would not perceive Him” (Job 9:11)[4] and why John declares “No one has seen God [the Father] at any time…;” (1 John 4:12). After all, is not God [the Father] “spirit”?[5] are not his ways higher than our own?[6] Again, while God certainly discloses himself in the world, his word, and the Word made flesh, there is still much about him that remains a mystery. If God is the ultimate good,[7] then even this personal attribute ought to be considered a moral value when appropriately understood and applied.

The Virtue of Mystery

            Thankfully, not only does the Christian worldview offer an explanation for the moral value of mystery as rooted in God himself, it is also equipped with instructions on how to appropriately endorse discretion in the world. Such applications are found in (though certainly not limited to) the wisdom literature of the Old Testament. Proverbs 12:16 suggests that the wise are those who keep quick reactions to offence to themselves (“a fool’s anger is known at once, but a prudent man conceals dishonor”).  Proverbs 12:23 teaches that it is actually prudent to conceal knowledge and not overshare (“A prudent man conceals knowledge, but the heart of fools proclaims folly”). According to Proverbs 17:9, this aforementioned principle is especially important concerning the transgressions of others (“He who conceals a transgression seeks love, but he who repeats a matter separates intimate friends”). These helpful maxims (and many others) are compliant with the character and nature of God[8] who is himself mysterious and has chosen to withhold certain things from his creation. He offers this advice so that moral beings can enjoy the kinds of interpersonal relationships that contribute to flourishing which, in and of itself, is good.

Unfortunately, the world is happily exercising the inverse of these virtues and suffering as a result. At no other time in history has it been easier or rendered more efficient to communicate with large numbers of people and share what is on one’s mind. While this may prove good in some ways, it is exceedingly bad/wrong when this ability transgresses the God-given principles of discretion outlined above. The immediacy with which people react to the latest polarizing post, the unchecked openness with which people share everything they are thinking and feeling, the expediency with which people betray a confidence, and the gleeful alacrity with which people expose/share the failures of an interlocutor or presumed enemy is staggering. These proclivities run contrary to the character and will of God who himself enjoys mystery, is himself mysterious, and encourages people to keep certain things to themselves. Unchecked transparency, unnuanced reporting, uninhibited sharing is ungodly and has contributed to a multiplicity of moral ills brought on by increased polarization, anxiety, shame, bullying, etc. Many would do well to put the garments God has provided back on by reconsidering and applying the virtue of mystery. Like Adam and Eve, we continue to prove that we are unable to adequately cope with the broken world around us without adorning the protective coverings of concealment that God has graciously provided, in our case, in his word.  

Neil Armstrong once said, “mystery creates wonder and wonder is the basis of man's desire to understand.” Perhaps what the world needs is not more information or more commentary. Perhaps it needs more mystery. After all, God, the ultimate good, both encourages it, endorses is, and is, at least in part, mysterious. Therefore, according to the Christian worldview, to exercise discretion is to follow his example and that is a good thing both for oneself and others.

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Jeffrey Dickson, PhD studied Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University where he now serves as an adjunct professor of Bible and theology. Dr. Dickson is also the senior pastor of Crystal Spring Baptist Church in Roanoke VA where he lives with his wife Brianna and their children.

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[1] For a compelling discussion of this modern affront to classical theism see John Morrison, Has God Said? Scripture, The Word of God, and the Crisis of Theological Authority (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2006), 7-110. See also Nicholas Wolterstorff, Divine Discourse: Philosophical Reflections on the Claim that God Speaks (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995) and Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Is There Meaning in This Text? The Bible, The Reader and the Morality of Literary Knowledge (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1998).

[2] Consider other examples of God remaining hidden/mysterious: 1) his glory was hidden behind the veil in the Holy of Holies of the Old Testament, 2) He often proves reticent in seasons of discipline or judgement (especially in the intertestamental period), 3) Jesus’ ascension and the sending an invisible helper following his resurrection, 4) Jesus’ choice to speak in cryptic parables requiring his own interpretation.

[3] One example of this is in John 8:59 where Jesus disappears to escape a premature death by stoning. Given that it was not his appointed time this concealment allowed Jesus to continue following God’s will in the way set before him.

[4] See also Job 23:8-9.

[5] See Jn 4:24.

[6] See Isa 55:8-9.

[7] This article assumes the goodness of the Christian God and is not prepared to make a case for this. That said, for such a case, see Robert Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999) and David Baggett and Jerry Walls, Good God: The Theistic Foundations of Morality (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).

[8] “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings” (Prov 25:2).

An Argument for God’s Existence from Gardening

Over the past few years, I’ve imagined and even longed for the day when I would have time to venture into organic gardening. This year as the school where I teach moved from in-person to online instruction in mid-March, I suddenly found myself at home with more time on my hands. As a result, I decided that this year was the year I’d finally grow a garden. Since I had no idea what I was doing at first—and still have a lot to learn—I began reading numerous articles, read and re-read a book I have on organic gardening (The Vegetable Gardener’s Bible by Edward C. Smith), and watched countless YouTube videos in an effort to adequately prepare myself for growing and managing a successful garden.

Quite honestly, my initial interest in growing a garden was mainly based on my desire to provide healthy, homegrown food for myself and my family. I also thought it would be a fun experience to share with my wife and kids. However, what I’ve learned and experienced over the past few months has brought many unexpected things: incredible excitement and joy, along with an overwhelming sense of peace, and most surprisingly—a deeper relationship with God and a renewed interest in who he is as Creator.

A deeper relationship with God and a renewed interest in who he is as Creator? How is that? I mean, we are talking about a garden, a mound of dirt with some plants that require watering from time-to-time, right?

What I’d like to do now is offer four things that I’ve learned from gardening over the past few months—four things that essentially serve as an argument (of sorts) for God’s existence, in addition to revealing some important aspects of his divine character.

Purpose. First, everything in a garden has a purpose. From the worms to the ladybugs, to the soil, the sun, and rain—everything has an important role to play. Even garbage (i.e., compost) has a purpose, as it fertilizes plants by enriching the surrounding soil with important nutrients that allow for the plants to grow and thrive.[1] With many things working together, each doing its own job, a bountiful harvest becomes possible. But how is this evidence for God? Everything that belongs in the garden is there for a purpose. Anytime there is purpose, there is intent, and intent reveals a personal will. Purpose also reveals wisdom, and wisdom comes from a personal intelligence. Therefore, purpose in creation points in the direction of a divine “Purposer” or, more specifically, an all-wise personal God.

Order. Second, there is an order to the way things work in a garden. Apart from order, gardening would be impossible. I’ve learned that careful soil preparation must precede planting, that seeds and young seedlings must be planted at specific times and then watered sufficiently, and so on. To further illustrate the point, consider how gardeners and farmers typically strive to improve their yield in succeeding years based upon what they have learned in previous years—which is only possible in an environment of order. Order is a problem for naturalism, which maintains that prior to the Big Bang, the universe was in a state of chaos. Additionally, naturalism involves believing that after the Big Bang, an ensuing set of random processes somehow produced order. This is problematic because chaos does not produce order; chaos only produces further chaos. Likewise, randomness only produces more randomness. A tornado cannot rip through a landscape and lay down a perfectly organized garden, even if all of the seeds are already there. A storm is unable to produce systematic rows of evenly divided crops of various kinds. This begs the question: Why does order exist, even within something like a garden, if the universe is just the result of chaotic origin and random material processes? Anytime there is order, a conscious mind is behind it. If a God of order exists, we would expect to find exactly what we find: an orderly creation. Because an orderly creation exists, we have evidence for an orderly God who stands behind it all (1 Corinthians 14:33).

Taste. Third, the food that I’ve grown in the garden is incredibly tasty. In my opinion, there aren’t many things that taste better than fresh-picked, homegrown strawberries or blackberries. I’ve also really enjoyed the delectable flavors of squash and green beans, and I will soon delight in the pleasant palatability of tomatoes and peppers. Here’s a thought I’ve often had, especially as a lover of food: Why does food taste good? I mean, couldn’t food be just as nutritious and enable us to survive and even flourish if it had no taste at all? The wonderfully delightful tastes of various foods seem to be “add-ons,” like something extra. Perhaps all of different flavors of food are actually evidences of a wonderfully good God, who desires to not only satisfy our hunger and innate need for food, but to also allow us to enjoy the pleasurable experience of tasting and savoring the different flavors he has created (Proverbs 24:13).

Beauty. Fourth, before growing a garden of my own, I had no idea how beautiful so many fruit and vegetable plants actually are, especially the flowers they produce. Every morning when I walk out to my garden, I notice bright yellow blooms on the squash and zucchini plants, small white flowers on the pepper plants, white and red flowers on the strawberry plants, and colorful flowers on all of the tomato plants as well. I’ve learned that these flowers exist in order to attract pollinators (which goes back to our “purpose” discussion above), but it seems they also exist for something more—to point us to the beauty of their Creator. Like taste, beauty is an “add-on” to the world; it is not something that is needed for survival. Beauty exists as a mark of design and order; it is something that is to be enjoyed, of course, but it is not an end in itself—it provides us with opportunity to reflect on the ultimate source of beauty. And as we allow the beautiful things we see in creation to push our hearts and challenge our minds to search for the ultimate source of beauty, we encounter our beautiful and good Creator, the divine Artist of creation himself (Psalm 19:1; Ecclesiastes 11:7).

There’s just something about a garden. This is a thought that I didn’t expect to have, but it is one I’ve had repeatedly over the past few months. Perhaps it’s because when we are in a garden, we are at home in the place where our existence began (Genesis 1-3)—and the place where those of us who trust in Christ will one day enjoy God’s presence forevermore (Revelation 21-22). There is much more that I could say about my gardening experience (including some frustrations), and I realize that I have much more to learn—but, for now, I rejoice in the fact that through gardening I experience the same glorious Creator who made the first garden and the One who will also fashion the last garden. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to go outside and check on my garden again…

Stephen S. Jordan currently serves as a high school Bible teacher at Liberty Christian Academy in Lynchburg, Virginia. He is also a Bible teacher, curriculum developer, and curriculum editor at Liberty University Online Academy, as well as a PhD candidate at the Liberty University Rawlings School of Divinity. Prior to his current positions, Stephen served as youth pastor at Pleasant Ridge Baptist Church in State Road, North Carolina. He and his wife, along with their three children and German shepherd, reside in Goode, Virginia.

[1] Placing compost into the garden is basically taking dead, rotten material and using it to bring about life among the plants. Surely, there is a spiritual application here somewhere.

Holy Fear

A Twilight Musing

In Christian Bible classes we sometimes hear people discuss the meaning of the biblical admonition, predominantly found in the Old Testament, to “fear God.”  Does not the New Testament present God as our loving Father, whom we are privileged to address familiarly as “Papa”?  But the Old Testament clearly sees fearing God in a different light.  The “Preacher” of Ecclesiastes, for example, sums up his treatise by asserting that we are to “fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.  For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil” (Eccl. 12:13-14 [ESV]).  But in the New Testament, disciples are frequently told not to fear, and in I John 4:18 we have a radical negation of fear: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.”  How do we get from the O.T. fear based on God’s judgment to the N.T. saying that Christians (the new Israel) should have no fear of judgment?  The fear of God still has its place in the N.T., but it is a fear embedded in the fact that Jesus Christ has bridged the gap for us between the austere fear of God and the joyful trembling that comes from being in the Presence of an awesome, loving, and gentle Father who accepts us as brothers and sisters of Christ Jesus.

Those under the Old Covenant were acutely aware that to be in God’s Presence was dangerous because of His perfect holiness and His fearsome judgment on human sin.  Three passages from chapters 6 and 8 of Isaiah and chapter 33 of Exodus illustrate this reaction, even in men who were being called by God.  In Isaiah’s vision of God “high and lifted up” in all His glory and holiness; the prophet’s immediate reaction is fear that he is going to die because he has “seen the King, the Lord of Hosts” (Is. 6:5).  Even though he is a prophet of God, he is terrifyingly aware of his sinfulness, and in order for his life to be preserved and for the conversation with God to continue, Isaiah has to be purified (depicted figuratively by the application of a burning coal from the Temple altar to his lips), so that his “guilt is taken away, and [his] sin atoned for” (v.7).  Moses has a similar experience (Ex. 33:18-23) when he asks God, “Show me your glory” (v. 18); whereupon God allows him only a glimpse of His back, and even that could be granted only with God’s protective hand covering Moses, for “man shall not see me and live.”  Human beings do well to fear the Presence of God, for the fiery holiness of that Presence will consume them unless God Himself offers protection.

The transition between the O.T. fear of God’s judgment and the N.T. casting out of fear by Love is provided by the visitation upon the sinless Lamb of God of all the wrath of the Father deserved by rebellious mankind.  With God’s judgment satisfied, we can be empowered to serve and obey Him without the fear engendered by our sinfulness.   As Paul expresses it, when we accepted the liberating blood of Christ, we “did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but . . . received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!"  Thereby we have the liberty to “work out [our] own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in [us], both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).  As Paul points out in Gal. 3, the final deliverance of mankind from sin was not to be accomplished through obedience to the Law, as necessary as that obedience was.  As he concludes in that chapter, “the law was our guardian until Christ came, in order that we might be justified by faith.  But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian, for in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith” (Gal. 3:24-26).  God’s love, fully manifested toward humankind by the sacrifice of His Son, is the instrument for transmuting human fear into effective fear of God. 

And so we come back to the statement in I John that “perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love” (I Jn. 4:18).  What a glorious privilege is granted to us who live under the New Covenant, that we may glory in standing before God without fear of punishment for our sins.  Although we no longer tremble in physical terror as Moses and the people did when they encountered the fiery Presence of God at Mt. Sinai, we are nevertheless admonished to approach Him in Mt. Zion, the Heavenly Jerusalem, “with holy fear and awe, for our God is a consuming fire” (Heb.12:28-29, NLT).  We still need the protective covering of the blood of Jesus to keep from being consumed by the Fire of God’s judgment.  Thus we are able under the New Covenant to fear God perfectly and joyfully.

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 Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife and adult daughter in Jackson, MI.. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton. His self-published Collected Poems is online at Lulu.com. He also published a couple dozen short articles in religious journals. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable; it's thrilling to welcome this dear friend onboard.)