The Glass Castle is the compelling memoir of Jeannette Walls. Written in 2005, The Glass Castle follows the various exploits of a family’s drunken father and free-spirit mother. As of last month, Lionsgate began filming a Hollywood adaption of the book. The movie is anticipated for release in 2017 featuring Brie Larson (who also starred in the critically acclaimed “Room” in 2015), Naomi Watts, and Woody Harrelson. The book exposes the cultural challenges of the post-modern family and the vulnerabilities of a family outside of the Christian Church. The morality of “independence” is challenged as the memoir painfully connects “free spirit” parenting to neglected, abused, and resentful children. (more…)
There is an incredible investment in the evangelical community in the word radical. There is nothing inherently sinful about the word, but its common usage has turned into a marketing scheme. For instance, well-known author David Platt in his book Radical observes:
“Radical obedience to Christ is not easy… It’s not comfort, not health, not wealth, and not prosperity in this world. Radical obedience to Christ risks losing all these things. But in the end, such risk finds its reward in Christ. And he is more than enough for us.”
Whether or not we are comfortable with Platt’s conclusion is a different question. But crucial to this discussion is the use of the word as an accentuation of the Christian faith. Ordinary faith+radical faith=authentic faith. But is this how the Bible portrays the Christian life? In other words, why do so many authors and speakers find the need to insert the word radical into the clear commands of the Bible? Is “love your neighbor” not a pure example of a kind of life that is diametrical to the human experience? Is radical faith a kind of secret life that only few can find through a consistent impulse to abandon wealth and prosperity and the American dream? Simply put, are we making Jesus’ yoke hard and his burden heavy? Are we creating a sub-culture of radical Christians who do the risky thing for Jesus while the others are left in this trite category of non-radical?
Part of the genius of the Christian Bible is that the ordinary is radical. Forcing an alliance of radical Christians into the Scriptures makes the ordinary unnecessary. Certainly the impetus of such move is to offer the evangelical world a more robust expression of Christian living. But my assertion is that creating a radical platform to encourage people to do their ordinary work is not an encouragement, but a detriment to pursuing the ordinary work of Christian living. Who, after all, feels radical after a long bout of chemotherapy? You feel ordinary. In fact, you feel incapable of being anything more than ordinary. In fact, your calling at this point is to be as ordinarily Christian as you can as your body decays from within.
Ordinary Christian living is different from radical Christian living. It does not feel shame in the comfort of a hammock at the lake or in the luxury of an afternoon game at the stadium or the perfectly grilled steak. Ordinary Christian living does not negate the good, it gives thanks for the good. It does not negate the routine of a mother’s third diaper change of the day, it exalts the role of motherhood. I do not doubt many in this movement would affirm these assertions, but the reality is that the kinds of disciples these authors and speakers are producing are either misunderstanding the message of Radical proponents or they are using this message as a way of escaping the ordinary.
We live an age where we need less radical things and more ordinary things lived out daily in the Church. We need more bread and wine, more hugs, more encouragement, more connection with one another, more good night kisses and more tickling of babies. We need more ordinary. Jesus accomplished the radical. Let’s live out the radical nature of the ordinary in faithful obedience.
The 2016 meeting of the Primates for the Anglican Communion has released a statement upholding their commitment to traditional marriage in response to the Episcopal Church (USA) and its official promulgation of same-sex marriages among members and clergy. See the official statement here. (more…)
I’ve mentioned my appreciation for the work of Nicholas Wolterstorff before. Even in those times when I’m not completely persuaded by his argument, I find his reasoning to be incredibly stimulating and helpful. The below excerpt comes amid a discussion on the question, “are Christian schools necessary?” In offering an affirmative answer, Wolterstorff gives a splendid discourse on the logical implication of the Christian world-and-life-view vis-à-vis education. For book length discussions in this vein, I’d highly recommend Norman Dejong’s classic Education in the Truth, the collection of essays by Berkhof and Van Til Foundations of Christian Education, Desiring the Kingdom by James K.A. Smith, Donovan Graham’s Teaching Redemptively, and of course Wolterstorff himself, starting here:
“Christian parents, in directing the education of their child, will seek to train the child to live the Christian way of life as a member of the Christian community in the midst of human society[i]. The children of Christian parents are already members of the household of faith, they are immature members. It is the duty and responsibility of Christian parents to bring their membership to maturity.
It should be noticed that the primary aim of the education that Christian parents give their child is a positive one—preparing the child to do something in society. The primary aim is not a negative one—secluding and isolating the children from society, quarantining them against infection. The Christian view of faith, life, and society justifies no such fearful and apprehensive negativism.
Thus, the question as to whether the Christians should maintain separate Christian day-schools will have to be wholly determined by their judgment as to whether the public schools, plus their homes and churches, are adequate instruments for that end. There can be little doubt that homes and churches together are adequate instruments for teaching children the proper devotional practices and the proper theological beliefs; one scarcely needs separate day-schools for that. But the question is whether homes and churches plus the public school are adequate instruments for training children to live the whole Christian way of life.
How could the public school supply what Christians must demand of the school to which they send their children? For, to repeat, the public school must be affirmatively impartial in its educational policies and practices. It cannot with propriety undertake to be a training ground for the Christian way of life. It cannot rightfully, in our religiously diverse society, systematically inculcate Christian standards for the assessment of art and literature, Christian economic and political principles, the Christian understanding of work, the Christian view of nature, the Christian understanding of the source of evil in human affairs. Yet exactly these things—and many others of the same sort—are what the Christian wants inculcated in the child, for the inculcation of such things is indispensable to training the child to live the whole Christian way of life.
It cannot be overlooked that the gospel speaks to our this-worldly secular existence as well as to our other-worldly existence. I think it is difficult, therefore, to avoid the conclusion that Christians need Christian schools for the education of their children. And once more—they do not need them to teach children the Christian way of worship; they need them to teach children the Christian way of life.”
In the book Philosophers Who Believe, Nicholas Wolterstorff offers a beautiful account of his spiritual journey. While I was deeply moved by his whole story, I was particularly impressed by his appreciation for the Reformed tradition in which he was reared:
“The grace that shaped my life came not in the form of episodes culminating in a private experience of conversion but, first of all, in the form of being inducted into a public tradition of the Christian church…. My induction into the tradition, through words and silences, ritual and architecture, implanted in me an interpretation of reality—a fundamental hermeneutic. Nobody offered ‘evidences’ for the truth of the Christian gospel; nobody offered ‘proofs’ for the inspiration of the Scriptures; nobody suggested that Christianity was the best explanation of one thing or another. Evidentialists were nowhere in sight! The gospel was report, not explanation. And nobody reflected on what we as ‘modern men’ can and should believe in all this. The schema of sin, salvation and gratitude was set before us, the details were explained; and we were exhorted to live this truth. The modern world was not ignored, but was interpreted in the light of this truth rather than this truth being interpreted in the light of that world.”
Wolterstorff then goes on to say that this tradition was thoroughly and completely biblical:
“The piety in which I was reared was a piety centered on the Bible, Old Testament and New Testament together. Centered not on experience, and not on the liturgy, but on the Bible; for those themselves were seen as shaped by the Bible. Christian experience was the experience of appropriating the Bible, the experience of allowing the Bible to shape one’s imagination and emotion and perception and interpretation and action. And the liturgy was grounded and focused on the Bible: in the sermon the minister spoke the Word of God to us on the basis of the Bible; in the sacraments, celebrated on the authority of the Bible, the very God revealed in the Bible united us to Christ. So this was the Holy Book. Here one learned what God had done and said, in creation and for our salvation. In meditating on it and in hearing it expounded one heard God speak to one today.”
I always enjoy reading Wolterstorff, especially his work on education. This story, however, gave me new appreciation for the man, for the tradition which shaped him, and for the grace of God which sustains such traditions in an increasingly individualistic age.
For many generations Christians or converts to Christianity in the West (Europe & America) did not have to sacrifice much. The reason was Western Christendom. Most of society was built on Christian laws and operated under a Christian ethic. If someone got saved at a revival meeting they went out into a world, that for the most part, approved of their conversion and the actions that flowed from it. If a preacher called a man to come to Christ, that repentance rarely meant that the man would lose his family or job for believing in Jesus. Christianity was the air that we breathed. It was not perfect of course. The cracks that were there are now causing the structure to collapse. But for a long time the Western world was a safe place for Christians and those who converted to Christianity.
This is changing rapidly. Conversion to Christ in the West will require more and more sacrifice as the years go by. In particular, we will find families divided. There will be other types of loss, such as jobs and money, but few things compare to being rejected by family. Losing family is a deep and painful wound. New Christians will not find their family members approving of them and their actions. Instead they will find themselves in the position of many Muslims who lose all when they choose Christ. Two Muslim brothers who came to Jesus described it this way:
Faith [in Jesus] often means the total rejection of culture, ethnicity, family, and friends. To find heaven’s glory in Jesus Christ, we Caner brothers lost our father. (Islam Unveiled)
Another example is Rosaria Butterfield who was a lesbian professor at a major university when she came to Jesus. In the account of her conversion she notes that not only did she lose her friends, they felt betrayed by her. They put their trust in her. They counted on her to support them. When she came to Christ, they felt like she had stabbed them in the back. While this was not her biological family, the bonds she felt with these people were as strong as natural family bonds.
Stories like these will become common as the years progress. We will hear of sons being rejected by fathers and fathers rejected by sons. We will hear of children raised in homosexual homes converting to Christ and being rejected by their parents. We will hear of daughters being kicked out of homes for their faith in Christ. We will hear of Muslims rejecting family members for conversion, not in the Middle East, but here in America. We will hear of close knit groups who hate a member for leaving them and following Jesus. The possibilities are endless, but the probability of families, biological or otherwise, being divided by Christ get higher with each passing day.
How can the church prepare for this?
First, we must remind ourselves and tell those we evangelize that Jesus demands absolute loyalty. Family is not the highest good. Jesus is. You can gain your family and lose Jesus. You can hold to all sorts of wonderful family values, like the Mormons and the Muslims, and still burn in Hell. Jesus came to separate.
Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a person’s enemies will be those of his own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. (Matthew 10:34-38)
Family is important, but it does not trump Jesus Christ. If we give the impression that family is more important than Jesus people will not make the choice to follow Jesus with their whole heart. They will be divided. We must declare without apology, that if the choice is Jesus or family, Jesus wins.
Second, our churches must be places where broken families integrate into God’s family of brothers and sisters. Single mothers, divorced folks, people recovering from sodomy and abortion, the abused, the sexually broken, etc. when they trust in Christ and are baptized should find a place in our churches to serve and grow. Widows must be cared for and orphans must be adopted. If our churches cannot or will not bring in these people then we are saying biological family trumps God’s family. We are saying you must come from a whole family in order to be part of God’s family. That is a grievous sin and shows disloyalty to Jesus. However, teaching this is not enough. Somehow, and it is not easy, we must create a tone, an atmosphere where broken families are welcome. A church that emphasizes family can make people from broken homes feel unwelcome. We must remember deep in our bones that we too were broken (Titus 3:3) and outside of God’s family (Ephesians 4:14-22), but God in his grace adopted us and saved us.
Third, we must maintain strong families, but not idolize them. A good Biblical home is a wonderful witness of God’s grace to the watching world. We should teach and model what a Christian husband and wife look like. We should teach parents to raise their children in the discipline and admonition of the Lord. We should encourage our young people to get married and have lots of children. But all of this must be done, not as an end to itself, but as a way to glorify God and build his kingdom. If we build the family for the sake of the family then we have made the family an idol. And God destroys idols. But if we build our families so they might serve Christ and serve His church, including those among us do not have families, then we are reflecting Biblical priorities.
Fourth, we should be grateful for the good relationships we have with non-Christian family members. For many of us, even though our family is not worshiping Jesus, we still get along. The relationship is not completely severed. Of course, there is always a divide. No matter how much we love our family, if they do not trust in Christ there is chasm that cannot be crossed until they believe. But God is kind. He gives common grace so we can enjoy their company and they our’s despite their lack of faith.
Finally, we should be thankful when our biological family is Christian. My whole family believes in the Lord Jesus Christ. He could have made me choose between Christ and my family as many Christians around the world have done. But he didn’t. God in his mercy has made my temporary, biological family part of my eternal, spiritual family. The only proper response to this astonishing fact is gratitude.
The story of Christian community begins, as every Christian story does, in the Garden of Eden. Adam was created in knowledge, righteousness, and holiness. He was created in perfect covenantal fellowship with the Triune Lord. No sin stood in the way of their communion, as the Creator and creature loved one another in fullness. Moreover, Adam didn’t have to earn anything; God had freely and graciously blessed him. He had all the privileges of divine sonship. The Lord had, in the most intimate way, breathed life into Adam, imparting his own Spirit to the first man (Gen. 2; cf. Jn. 20). The Lord gave him access to the Tree of Life and a fatherly warning to avoid the Tree of the Knowledge of Good Evil until the time was right. The Lord gave him meaningful labor, as he was to serve and guard the garden the Lord had planted for him. He had abundant food and a beautiful environment in which to live, worship, and play. All of creation was his, as God’s vice-regent. And yet, the Lord evaluated the situation at the mid-point of the sixth creation day and said “It is not good that man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18).
Alone?! Adam was emphatically not alone at his creation. He enjoyed friendship with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. He was the son of God. He was included in the Triune family. What more could he need? We’d expect the text to read, in harmony with the rest of Gen. 1-2, “And the Lord God said, ‘It is good for man to be with me, to have me as his friend.” But that’s not what the inspired narrative says.
Apparently Adam’s pre-fall communion with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit was not enough. God made man for more than fellowship with himself. To be complete, to be satisfied, to be fully realized as a creature made in God’s image, the man needed fellowship with other humans. He was not only created, as Augustine suggested, with a Trinity-shaped void in his heart that only the Father, Son, and Spirit could fill; he was also created with a human-shaped void that only other people could fill.
This is part of what it means to be made in God’s image. God is not a single individual. He is a community of three distinct persons, bound together in an absolute oneness of love and fellowship. For man to image this kind of God required a plurality of humans in fellowship with one another. An isolated individual is not a full image of the plural Godhead. Thus, God is not enough. People need other people to be complete. We were made for each other.
Because we are made in God’s image, God is the model for humanity. The Father, Son, and Spirit mutually indwell one another’s lives (Jn. 13-17). The theological term for this is “perichoresis.” “Peri” is Greek for “around.” We get the word “choreograph” from “choresis.” The idea is that the three persons of the Godhead “dance around” or “dance within” one another. Their lives are totally intertwined. They move in lockstep with one another because they abide within one another. But this is precisely how we are to live in Christian community. We are to open our lives to others so they can indwell us, but we are also to seek to “move into” the lives of others, abiding in them. In this kind of community, as we indwell one another and live “perichoretically,” we image the life of the Triune God.
Obviously, the claim “God is not enough” is hyperbolic. This should not be understood in an idolatrous fashion. Obviously, in an ultimate sense, God is enough for man. We can and must still speak of the absolute adequacy of God. It is God, after all, who provided all Adam’s needs. It is God who created Eve and gave her to Adam as the crown of his other gifts. God stands back of all Adam’s satisfaction and joy. It is God who ultimately completes Adam.
But our point here concerns God’s creation design. God designed humans to live in community with one another. This is part and parcel of what it means to be imago Dei. God made us in such a way that vertical fellowship with the divine would be insufficient; we also need horizontal fellowship with other humans. God did not just make us for himself, he made us for each other.
Or, to look at things from another angle, God made the world in such a way that his presence would be mediated from one human to another. God dealt directly with Adam, but for the most part God deals indirectly with us. He speaks to us, disciplines us, molds us, and so forth, though the agency of others. God works through means, especially the means of humans made in his image.
Community is inescapable. Each one of us comes into existence only because two other people “communed” (so to speak) in just the right way. After birth, we would perish in days, if not hours, if others did not care for us. We learn every social skill we possess (or don’t possess) from others – language, manners, games, proficiencies, etc. And this need for others is not something we outgrow. It is more obvious in the case of infants, but just as real in the case of adults. No man is an island and no man is self-sufficient.
Thus, the pessimistic dictum of existentialist philosopher Jean Paul Sartre, “Hell is other people,” is exactly backwards. Hell is the absence, not the presence, of other people. In fact, in hell, the wicked will be utterly alone, apart from an all-too-personal, all-too-close relationship with the God they utterly despise. Contrary to existentialism, other people do not stifle our freedom or get in the way of our self-actualization. Rather, it is precisely in community that we are free to find and be our true selves. We are not self-made, but God- and others-made.
Heaven and the new creation are precisely what Sartre dreaded, but in a form he could not imagine. Heaven is, as Jonathan Edwards put it, “a society of love.” It is not the absence of other people, but precisely their presence that makes heaven so heavenly. The saved community is marked out even in the present by this mutual love (Jn. 13). Our love for one another shows that the power of God’s new creation is already at work in the world. This love will be perfected in the resurrection.
Ultimately, salvation itself must be understood in communal terms. Just as sin wrecked our fellowship with God and with one another, so in redemption that fellowship is restored. Psalm 133 spells out the connection between salvation and community in beautiful, poetic terms. Brothers dwelling together in unity is likened to the precious anointing oil flowing down Aaron’s beard to the edge of his garment. The priest’s body and robe become symbolic of the oneness of the community. The body of the priest is now the body of Christ (cf. 1 Cor. 12). The oil – usually symbolic of the Spirit in Scripture – covers the body from head to toe. The psalmist goes on to compare fellowship among the redeemed to the refreshing dew of Hermon flowing down Mount Zion. This is an interesting picture, since Hermon was in northern Israel and Zion in the south. The Spirit, now symbolized by the dew, unites things disparate in space and even culture. The conclusion is remarkable: “For there the Lord commanded his blessing – life forevermore.” That is to say, eternal life takes the shape of community life. The structure of the psalm itself makes the point: Just as the inner sections of the psalm match (oil and dew, priests and mountains), so the outer sections match (brothers dwelling together in unity and eternal life).
The gospel, then, is irreducibly social. Liberals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century used the label “social gospel” to refer to their program. They substituted salvation from poverty and ignorance through state-mandated welfare and educational programs for salvation from sin and damnation through the cross and Spirit. One theologian characterized the social gospel of liberalism as a God without wrath, bringing men without sin into a kingdom without judgment though a Christ without a cross. Obviously, that is a total distortion of the biblical teaching.
But in another sense, we could benefit from restoring and redeeming the label “social gospel.” The gospel is social through and through. Traditional Christian teaching claims that outside the church there is no ordinary possibility of salvation. That is to say, forgiveness from sin and incorporation into Christ’s body go hand in hand. Salvation includes a new status (justification) and a new community (the church).
Moreover, the whole Christian life can only be lived out in the context of the church community. The New Testament authors presuppose that followers of Christ will be discipled in the matrix of an ecclesial community (cf. Acts 2:42ff). Numerous apostolic commands only make sense in this light. For example, we are told to love one another, pray for one another, bear one another’s burdens, confess to one another, forgive one another, and so on. In other words, we’re to “one another one another.” But this can only happen in the environment of a church body. It can’t be done in isolation.
American Christians struggle with these things because of our heritage of individualism and dislike for authority (including church authority). Community means you give up some privacy, some of your rights. It means you sometimes have to accommodate yourself to things you wish could be done differently. You have to learn to “give a little,” and to be flexible. It means we have to learn that life together involves becoming vulnerable at times, admitting weaknesses and needs. It also means meeting needs and showing strength on behalf of others at times. Communal life means we are willing to submit to the brethren, especially those God has put in charge of us through ordained office.
But whatever the costs, it is imperative that we learn to live in community once again. We must learn to deal with our differences in a biblical manner (Phil. 2:1-11). We must learn to live under authority (Heb. 13:7, 17). We must learn work together on the common project of building God’s kingdom. We must learn to live as an organic body, in which every part of the community cares for every other part. We must learn what it means to be the communion of the saints, as we confess in the early church creeds. We must rediscover what it means to live shared lives of generosity, of mercy, of friendship, and of hospitality. Many of these virtues the ancient church excelled in have been lost on us.
American spirituality often treats church community as a “tacked on” extra to a personal relationship with Jesus. In other words, we often act as if God alone is enough, and other Christians were quite unnecessary. “Quiet times,” in which the individual gets alone with God, have replaced the church’s corporate gathering as the pinnacle of spiritual growth. But the Bible points us in a different direction. Remember Adam: life alone with God is not the divine plan for us. God alone is not enough, in a profound sense. We must live in fellowship as one body with other believers if we are to grow and mature as God’s people. As Augustine said, the essence of God’s plan for humanity is mutual fellowship with himself. We are called to share a common life with the Trinity and with one another.
So: Is God enough? Yes, we must insist that he is in an ultimate sense. God is our all in all. But how does God manifest his all-sufficiency towards us? Precisely through giving himself to us in one another. God meets our needs by giving us each other, and together we are called to mirror his life – the life of Triune, perichoretic community.
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Rich Lusk has served as the Pastor of Trinity Presbyterian Church since December, 2004. Before that he served at Redeemer Presbyterian (PCA) in Austin, TX and Auburn Avenue Presbyterian (CREC) in Monroe, LA. He and his wife Jenny have four kids. Rich is a graduate of Auburn University (B. S. in Microbiology) and the University of Texas at Austin (M.A. in Philosophy). This article is used with permission, and originally appeared at the Trinity Presbyterian website.
At Kuyperian Commentary we begin with the Trinity as the starting point for understanding our relationship to God and to one another. In this perspective, our understanding of the Trinity, informs our understanding of salvation (as against the Arian heresy) and our relationships with each other. Kuyperian Commentary’s founder Pastor Uri Brito explored these implication for the family in his book The Trinitarian Father.
Creedal Christianity has traditionally emphasized the equality of the persons of the Trinity through phrases like, “of one Being with the Father” (Nicene Creed) and “And in this Trinity none is afore or after another; none is greater or less than another.” (Athanasian Creed) In attempting to understand the marriage relationship from a Trinitarian perspective, some scholars have suggested that similar language should be employed in the relationship between husband and wife. The result is a flattened view of the Trinity to emphasize an egalitarian view of marriage.
Recently Peter Leithart (Theopolis Institute) addressed this trend on First Things, identifying what he called, “Gender Arianism.” Leithart explains that:
“Feminists reject the Genesis account of creation as misogynist, but they do so only because they have assumed that to be second is to be subordinate. Whereas Trinitarian theology denies the premise. Eve comes second, not as lesser but as the glory of Adam; Eve is the woman without whom the man is ‘not good.’” (Gender Arianism, FirstThings.com)
RC Sproul Jr. also picked up on this theme on his podcast Jesus Changes Everything. In a short segment on Feminism, RC Jr. explains how the Godhead is understood in both its oneness and diversity, as is true for marriage.
“Now it is true that in the garden Adam and Eve are both made in the image of God; they both are equal in dignity, in value, and importance. But they take different roles. Husbands are called to lead their wives, wives are called to follow their husbands. This does not make husbands more valuable than wives nor wives less valuable than husbands anymore than the fact that God the Son submits to God the Father and God the Son and God the Holy Spirit submit to God the Father.
This is no more a denial of the equality of value than the reality that the Father is the authority over the Son and the Spirit. They submit to Him, they proceed from Him, they are equal in power and dignity though they fill different roles. And that is really at the end of the day where we need to come down. We need to recognize the absolute, complete, equal dignity of women. We need to embrace it, we need to celebrate it, and we do need to recognize that men and women are different for God’s glory.” (Feminism, Jesus Changes Everything)
Is marriage modeled after the Trinity egalitarian? As image bearers, our marriages express our view of the Triune God and His faithfulness. In this sense, our marriages are a picture of the Godhead. Husbands who refuse to lead, cherish, and honor their wives create a caricature of the Trinity with their marriages.
I am making a new rule in our house! We are actually kind of skimpy on the house rules. I try very hard to keep things simple: love God, love others, and be joyful. It’s not complicated to avoid discipline here. But I have found myself repeating this new rule over and over again: honor God with your body. I suppose it falls right under the rule to love God, but when I phrase it this way it keeps our correction short and easy and obvious.
No spitting at your sister!
Why did God give you a tongue?
Answer: To taste delicious food.
Honor God with your tongue. Honor God with your body.
No hitting your sister!
Why did God give you hands?
Answer: To help others.
Honor God with your hands. Honor God with your body
No stomping your feet!
Why did God give you feet?
Answer: To walk and run and dance
Honor God with your feet
No yelling!
Why did God give you a voice?
Answer: To sing and praise Him
Honor God with your voice.
It’s really all the same rule. Isn’t that the way rules should be? We are just using them to maintain a certain standard, the standard of serving Christ. I want my children to think of their bodies as gifts, as temples of the Holy Spirit, that they have been given responsibility for, to use to honor God. At their age, honoring God with their body means things like no spitting, no yelling, no fits, no hitting, no pulling hair, no sitting on each other. I want them to make the connection (and it is an easy one) that their bodies are given to them for a purpose and it is very possible and very easy to misuse our bodies.
Of course the best way for them to learn this is for them to see me using my body to honor God, using my hands to serve instead of take, my energy to give instead of for my own hobbies, my voice to encourage and sing and tell stories instead of criticize, my imagination to create things for them instead of worrying about them.
Why did God give me a body? What does He want me to do with it? Why a brain and an imagination and a back and a stomach and teeth and a tongue and feet and hands and hips and why are my arms so strangely long? It doesn’t take much work to think of all the ways I can honor God with those things, instead of thinking of those things as ways to serve myself or of trying to preserve my body like a porcelain doll. God gave it to me to use and to use up until it is gone. This new rule is just as much for me as it is for the children. We are all learning to honor God with our bodies.
The great Scottish pastor, social reformer, educator, author, and scientist Thomas Chalmers was born on March 17, 1780 at Anstruther on the Fife coast. His father was a prosperous businessman in the town and Thomas grew up as the sixth in a large family of fourteen children—he had eight brothers and five sisters.
Showing early signs of prodigy, at the age of three, he went to the local parish school to learn the classical trivium of grammar, logic, and rhetoric in English, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. His parents were people of strong Calvinist conviction and keen that their family should grow up to bear witness to a lively and relevant Christianity. Piety and intellectual rigor marked their daily lives.
Before he was twelve, he had sufficiently mastered language, literary, and philosophical skills that he was recommended to advance his studies at the University of St Andrews. His brother, William, who was just thirteen, accompanied him. At the time, Thomas was the second-youngest student at St Andrews and widely recognized as a student with extraordinary promise. Although a great part of his time in the first two sessions at the university were apparently occupied in boyish amusements, such as golf, soccer, and hand-ball—in which he was remarkably expert, owing to his being left-handed—he had already begun to demonstrate the great intellectual power which was to be one of his chief characteristics throughout adult life. For mathematics he developed special enthusiasm and to its study he gave himself with great energy and dedication. Ethics and politics were also themes of special interest to him as he sought to integrate his life and faith with the evident woes of the world around him.
In 1795, now fifteen years-old, he sensed a call into the ministry—though as yet still quite immature in his faith—and so he was enrolled as a student of Divinity. That session, he actually studied very little theology because having recently taught himself sufficient French to use the language for study, he pursued his researches into theoretical mathematics with renewed vigor. Nevertheless, towards the end of the session he was deeply stirred by the power of the writings of Jonathan Edwards and came to an intellectual grasp of the magnificence of the Godhead and of the providential subordination of all things to His one sovereign purpose.
During these years another part of his great talent began to come into prominence. On entry to the University his expressive proficiency in English grammar and rhetoric was at best immature, but after two years of study, there was a perceptible change. The gifts of powerful, intense and sustained expression revealed themselves with freedom, spontaneity and beauty. Student Debating Societies, class discourses, and daily prayers in the University were all enriched by his tasteful, capable and eloquent participation.
By 1798, having just reached the age of eighteen, he had completed his course of studies at the University of St Andrews. The foundations were laid for his future development. As his biographer Hanna would later assert, “The intensity of his nature, the redundant energy that hardly knew fatigue, the largeness of his view, the warmth of his affection, the independence of his judgement, and the gushing impetuosity of his style, were already manifest from these college days.”
In July 1799, he was licensed to preach after a special dispensation exempted him from the qualifying condition of having reached the age of twenty-one. At the same time, he became a teaching assistant at the University of Edinburgh in the widely varied disciplines of Mathematics, Chemistry, Natural and Moral Philosophy and Political Economy.
During the winter of 1801, he was offered a post as Assistant in the Mathematics Department at St Andrews as well as the pastorate of the small parish church in Kilmany. And thus began his remarkable dual career as an ecclesiastic and an academic. Over the next forty-four years Thomas Chalmers gave himself to public service. Twenty of these years were spent in three parishes: first at Kilmany and then later at, the Tron Church and St John’s Church, both in Glasgow. The remaining twenty-four years were spent as a professor in three different chairs, Moral Philosophy in St Andrews, Professor of Divinity in Edinburgh, and Principal and Professor of Divinity in the Free Church Theological Institution, Edinburgh, later known as New College. Often, he served both church and university simultaneously, evoking the wonder of the entire world.
As a teacher, he aroused the enthusiasm of his students. One of them later commented, “Under his extraordinary management, the study of Mathematics was felt to be hardly less a play of the fancy than a labor of the intellect—the lessons of the day being continually interspersed with applications and illustrations of the most lively nature, so that he secured in a singular manner the confidence and attachment of his pupils.” Likewise, his parishioners found his sermons to be both erudite and winsome, aimed at both orthodoxy and orthopraxy. His reputation was soon spread throughout Scotland.
The years of work given to parish ministry were extremely significant in the life of Thomas Chalmers. The mental capacity that he had shown in academic pursuits and his youthful strength of spirit were now brought to the test of service to rural and urban communities at a time of extremely significant social change, and the ever transforming power of the Gospel was to prove itself in and through his life and service.
Family bereavements brought Chalmers to reflect more seriously about a dimension of life which, on his own confession, he had not fully considered. His brother, George, three years older, and his sister, Barbara, some five years older, both died within the space of two years. George had been the captain of a merchant ship, but succumbed to tuberculosis and returned home at the age of twenty-nine to die. He awaited the end calmly, his trust resting firmly in Christ. Each evening he had read to him one of John Newton’s sermons and obviously derived especial comfort therein. His quiet and assured faith challenged his younger brother. Barbara, likewise, suffering the same disease, showed great fortitude and confidence in the face of death. The nature of these circumstances brought him to question his previous conceptions.
After Barbara’s death, Thomas, who had been commissioned to write several articles for the Encyclopaedia Britannica on mathematical subjects, wrote to the editor and asked that the article on Christianity should also be allocated to him. Before finishing the article and just after he had made his maiden speech in the General Assembly of 1809, he himself fell gravely ill. Ill-health dogged him for months—at one point being so severe that his family despaired of his very life. The combination of his illness and the loss of his siblings signaled a profound change in his life. He wrote to a friend, “My confinement has fixed on my heart a very strong impression of the insignificance of time—an impression which I trust will not abandon me though I again reach the heyday of health and vigor. This should be the first step to another impression still more salutary—the magnitude of eternity. Strip human life of its connection with a higher scene of existence and it is the illusion of an instant, an unmeaning farce, a series of visions and projects, and convulsive efforts, which terminate in nothing. I have been reading Pascal’s Thoughts on Religion: you know his history—a man of the richest endowments, and whose youth was signalized by his profound and original speculations in mathematical science, but who could stop short in the brilliant career of discovery, who could resign all the splendors of literary reputation, who could renounce without a sigh all the distinctions which are conferred upon genius, and resolve to devote every talent and every hour to the defense and illustration of the Gospel. This, my dear sir, is superior to all Greek and Roman fame.”
Yet another influence on his spiritual development at this time was the reading of William Wilberforce’s Practical View of Christianity. Again, he wrote, “The deep views he gives of the depravity of our nature, of our need of an atonement, of the great doctrine of acceptance through that atonement, of the sanctifying influence of the Spirit—these all have given a new aspect to my faith.”
Chalmers now had his priorities set in order before him. He gladly recognized God’s claim to rule the affections of his heart and command his life’s obedience. The remainder of his ministry in Kilmany was profoundly affected by the experience of a vital Christian walk. His preaching had new life and concern, proclaiming what he had formerly disclaimed. His pastoral visitation and his instruction in the homes of his parish showed greater ardor than ever before. From outside the region many came to hear the Word, and heard it gladly. There were innumerable converts to this living Christianity.
Chalmers became an earnest student of the Scriptures and also set aside one day each month when, before God, he reviewed his service to Him and sought, with confession and thanksgiving, the blessing of God on his work and on the people entrusted to his pastoral care. These years were also those of the Napoleonic Wars and Chalmers joined the volunteers, holding commissions as a chaplain and lieutenant, though he was never deployed on the continent.
He completely abandoned himself to the covenantal community there at Kilmany. He married and had his first children there. He established a classical school at the heart of the parish. He set about a reform of the ministry to the poor, the widows, and the orphans. He established a pioneer missionary society and a Bible society. In addition, Chalmers began his prodigious and prolific publishing career.
It was inevitable that a man of such gifts would not long be underutilized in the small environs of the Fife seacoast. In July 1815, when news of the victory at Waterloo was scarcely a month old, he preached the last sermon of his twelve-year ministry in Kilmany. His final exhortation was: “Choose Him, then, my brethren. Choose Him as the Captain of your salvation. Let him enter into your hearts by faith, and let Him dwell continually there. Cultivate a daily intercourse and a growing acquaintance with Him. O you are in safe company, indeed, when your fellowship is with Him.”
Thomas Chalmers went to Glasgow at the invitation of the Magistrates and Town Council of Glasgow. He served first in the Tron Church until 1819, and then, by the election of the Town Council, he was transferred to the newly-created parish of St John’s, a poorer parish with a very high proportion of factory a workers, a parish in which he had the freedom to develop the ideas which he had long been maturing.
In the later years at Kilmany, Chalmers had made conscience of his work as a parish minister and had come to know the problems of working a rural parish. Now with his newly expanded duties in Glasgow, he came to grips with the difficulties of work in a city parish and applied his intelligence and strength to new problems.
From the beginning of his ministry in the city his preaching was fully appreciated, and many attended from throughout Glasgow, but Chalmers was concerned that his ministry should first and foremost be to the parish—where some eleven or twelve-thousand people lived and worked. He commenced a program of visitation from house to house which took two years to complete. He organized the eldership to co-operate in this task and developed Sabbath evening schools. Commencing with thirteen children, the schools grew until within two years they had twelve hundred children under instruction. His awareness of the situation of the people gave him an acute understanding of the problems of illiteracy and poverty in the parish and he could not rest until he had found some means of remedying these. His interest in the working-man furthered his reflections on the economic situation; his interest in the sciences led to the Astronomical Discourses, a series of Thursday afternoon sermons delivered once every two months during 1816. Many businessmen and others left their place of work to hear these and during 1817 nine editions of some 20,000 copies were published.
In 1816, the University of Glasgow unanimously conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. The Lord High Commissioner at the General Assembly in the same year invited him to preach in Edinburgh at the time of the Assembly. Hard work and new-found fame were joined in the experience of Chalmers, but he was dissatisfied.
He was convinced that the Christian church had as yet unfulfilled responsibilities to all those who lived and worked in the local parish, not merely to those who attended the local place of worship. In the development of Sabbath School work Chalmers discovered that many children had great difficulty in reading. He resolved to remedy the defect by setting up classical schools throughout the parish—especially for the poor and neglected. Provision for the needs of the poor was also made, not from the poor-rate levy, but from funds administered by the church of the parish through its deacons who were given special training for this work. Relatives of the needy were encouraged to assume responsibility and the government’s poor relief costs for the parish were reduced by more than eighty per cent within three years. And as if all this were not enough, by correspondence he maintained a ministry with many others beyond the bounds of Glasgow, writing on average some fifty letters a week—and they were for the most part, letters of great substance.
The years of his ministry in Glasgow were very significant. There was no class of persons untouched by his labors. Before his time many had fallen away from all Christian belief and observance, but under his ministry public sentiment turned decisively to evangelical liveliness. By his labors living faith in Christ was restored and many men and women throughout the city gave themselves for Christian service.
When he was invited to return to his former University, St Andrews, as Professor of Moral Philosophy, he accepted because he saw it as a position of wider usefulness and also because he felt that the pressure of life in Glasgow which had progressively increased was making excessive demands on him. But his concerns for the urban parishes remained undiminished. His interest for instance, in dealing with the problem of poverty led to an invitation to London by the Parliamentary Committee on the Irish Poor Law. In 1840 he gave a paper at the British Association for the Advancement of Science recommending the system of voluntary assistance to the poor. He was well informed on the major public issues of his day—Roman Catholic Emancipation, the Reform Bill and the Corn Laws and his opinion was valued by great and small alike on all of these problems. In 1832 the Bishop of London recommended the President of the Royal Society to invite Dr Chalmers to prepare a treatise in proof of the wisdom and benevolence of God shown in the works of creation. It was published in the following year with funds from the legacy of the Earl of Bridgewater and was known as the Bridgewater Treatise.
Amongst the honors that had come his way in the same year was his election as Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. He had previously formed part of a delegation on William IV’s accession in 1830 and had been named as one of His Majesty’s Chaplains in Scotland. He was later to present a loyal address on behalf of the University of Edinburgh to Queen Victoria on her accession in 1837. In January 1834, Dr Chalmers was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh and the following year became one of its Vice-Presidents. The Royal Institute of France honored him with the title of corresponding member and four years later, in 1838, he visited France and read a lecture on the “Distinction both in principle and effect between a legal charity for the relief of indigence and a legal charity for the relief of disease.” His many books and sermons were invariably best-sellers for years on end.
Thus, his reputation was well-established, his contribution to the life of Scotland, England and Ireland fully recognized, and his fame spread around the world when he found himself not only involved in, but leading, a movement that was to divide the Church of Scotland, and to set him in apparent disregard of the authority of the highest civil court in the land.
With the disappearance of the Roman Catholic Church in Scotland as a spiritual force in the sixteenth century, the Presbyterian Church had assumed the right to be the Church of Scotland. Its struggle for spiritual independence had been a long and costly one under the leadership of John Knox, Andrew Melville and Alexander Henderson amongst others. At long last, in 1690, the Presbyterian Church was legally recognized by the crown as the established Church of Scotland, but in this recognition by the state there was no question of the church surrendering any aspect of its independence. It was free to follow the guidance of the Divine Head in every aspect in which He had expressed His will.
Patronage, or the right of landowners to bring to a parish a minister who might or might not be acceptable to the elders and members of it, had been brought in by Act of Parliament in 1712. But in 1838, in two cases in particular, those of Auchterarder and Marnoch, ministers were forced on congregations opposed to their settlement and the Court of Session and the House of Lords ratified these decisions. Many in the church were seriously perturbed.
There were other areas of concern as well. It was decided that the Church did not have the power to organize new parishes nor give the ministers there the status of clergy of the Church. She had no authority to receive again clergy who had left it. And perhaps worst of all a creeping liberal formalism was slowly smothering the evangelical zeal of the whole land. Alas, despite repeated requests, the Government refused to take action to deal with the threat of spiritual atrophy. After a ten year long struggle to regain the soul of the church, the evangelical wing, led by Chalmers and others laid a protest on the table of the Assembly some four hundred ministers and a like number of elders left the established Church of Scotland on May 18, 1843, to form the Free Church.
When the General Assembly of the Free Church was constituted that grave morning, Thomas Chalmers was called to be its Moderator. He was the man whose reputation in the Christian world was the highest; he was also the man whose influence in directing the events leading to what would eventually be called the Disruption had been greatest.
The ministers who left the Established Church with Chalmers that day sacrificed much. In the personal sphere their houses and financial security were set aside, their work had to be reorganized and new centers for preaching found. Chalmers, in this respect, also suffered loss. He was no longer Professor of Divinity at the University of Edinburgh and the influence and prestige of that position went to another. But the Church realized that, without continued pastoral training, its future was bleak. A center for theological study, the Free Church Theological Institute, was opened and Chalmers was appointed Principal and Professor of Divinity.
A few years before, when Chalmers had completed his sixtieth year, he looked forward to a “sabbatical decennium,” a seventh decade of life that would be spent as “the Sabbath of our earthly pilgrimage—as if on the shore of the eternal world.” The years before 1843 had brought him little of the rest and peace that he hoped for and, of course, after the Disruption, he had even more to do.
His lectures continued, but there was also the concern of finding a site and constructing a building to house the New College. In 1846, after much personal sacrifice and intense labor, Chalmers laid the foundation-stone of the new building. “We leave to others the passions and politics of this world, and nothing will ever be taught, I trust, in any of our halls which shall have the remotest tendency to disturb the existing order of things, or to confound the ranks and distinctions which at present obtain in society. But there is one equality between man and man which will strenuously be taught—the essential equality of human souls; and that in the high count and reckoning of eternity, the soul of the poorest of nature’s children, the raggedest boy that runs along the pavement, is of like estimation in the eyes of heaven with that of the greatest and noblest of our land.”
The means for supporting the ministers of the church following the Disruption had to be found and Chalmers dedicated much of his time and energy to the setting up of a Sustentation Fund. By the end of 1844 it was clear that the cost of maintaining spiritual independence would involve foregoing any financial assistance given by the State. It was under his leadership that this problem was confronted and resolved. In addition, new sites for some 700 churches and manses had to be found for the congregations that were formed, and there were difficulties with several landowners in getting sites. In many cases Chalmers was able to give assistance through his personal influence. His own home in Morningside was used as a place of worship for years afterward.
All this effort was not dedicated simply to perpetuating an idea, for Chalmers had a vision of Scotland in which all her people from those of highest to those of lowest rank would know and love the Lord Jesus Christ. Perhaps the dearest example of the outworking of this vision is seen in the West Port experiment in Edinburgh, “a fourth part of the whole population being pauper and another fourth street beggars, thieves and prostitutes.” The population amounted to upwards of 400 families of whom 300 had no connection with the Church. Of 411 children of school age, 290 were growing up without any education. The plan of Chalmers was to divide the whole territory into twenty districts each containing about twenty families. To each district a discipler was appointed whose duty was to visit each family once a week. A school was provided. By the end of 1845, 250 scholars had attended the school. A library, a savings bank, a wash-house and an industrial school had been provided, and there was a congregation served by a missionary-minister. Chalmers often attended the services there and would take part as a worshipper alongside the people of the district.
Thomas Carlyle said of him “What a wonderful old man Chalmers is. Or rather, he has all the buoyancy of youth. When so many of us are wringing our hands in hopeless despair over the vileness and wretchedness of the large towns, there goes the old man, shovel in hand, down into the dirtiest puddles of the West Port of Edinburgh, cleans them out, and fills the sewers with living waters. It is a beautiful sight.”
At the end of the College Session in 1847 Chalmers, by now exhausted in his ceaseless labors, went to London on the business of the Church. He returned to his home in Morningside to prepare for the General Assembly on the following Monday. It was after family worship on Sunday evening May 30 that he said goodnight. He went to sleep in Morningside, but he awoke in Heaven.
The funeral was held on the following Friday, June 4. The Magistrates and Town Council, the members of Assembly, the Professors of New College, ministers, probationers, students, the Rector and Masters of the High School and many thousands more joined the funeral procession, paying their tribute, as they followed the cortege to Grange Cemetery. According to Carlyle, “There was a moral sublimity in the spectacle. It spoke more emphatically than by words of the dignity of intrinsic excellence, and of the height to which a true man may attain. It was the dust of a Presbyterian minister which the coffin contained, and yet they were burying him amid the tears of a nation, and with more than kingly honors.”
George Grant is the author of more than five dozen books, serves as pastor of Parish Presbyterian Church, and is the founder of King’s Meadow Study Center, the Chalmers Fund, New College Franklin, the Comenius School, and Franklin Classical School. This post originally appeared on his blog, Grantian Florilegium.
There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, ‘Mine!’Abraham Kuyper
