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By In Church, Worship

Embodying Lent

“If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life maimed, rather than having two hands, to go to hell…” – Mark 9:43a

The Lenten season is all about repentance. During this season we look inward to examine our lives and root out sin no matter the cost. Our Lenten practices tend to be personal in nature. We read the Scriptures, pray, and fast in the closet. While this is all good practice, Lent can often be a time of too much ‘me’. What are our prayers, fasting, and repentance for? Of course, they are offered up as spiritual sacrifices to God from whom we receive the forgiveness of sins. But our prayers, fasting, and repentance are also for one another.

I remember preaching on Mark 9:42-50 about two years ago. As I prepared to preach on this well-known passage, I had sermons rolling through my head that I had heard throughout the years. They all focused on the personal nature of repentance and avoiding temptation. “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off! Do whatever it takes! If your T.V. causes you to lust, throw it away!” But this is a misreading of the passage. The context of this passage is social, not individualistic. Of course, applied consistently, it does speak to personal struggles and living holy lives, but it is primarily about church discipline and removing sin amid the Church. “But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble…” (v. 42a).

There is a social dimension to repentance within the Church. The Church must purge herself of those who wish to divide and hurt the flock or cause her little ones to stumble. But if we were to work this idea positively, our personal repentance is for the health of the whole. It strengthens the faith and love of our brothers and sisters within the body of Christ. Personal repentance is our spiritual antibody, and repentance done together with the rest of the Church is our corporate antibody.

The Lenten season is a time for the Church to practice this corporate inspection. In our personal devotions, we are to examine ourselves in relationship to the whole Church. We are not isolated individuals that just happen to have something in common. We are united by the same Spirit, knit together into one body, and all serve the same Father in heaven.

Lent is not just the practice of individualistic prayer, but fervent prayer for one another – for healing, faith, needs, and comfort. It is not just the practice of fasting, but the giving up of something so that we might give more to each other – our time, help, food, and clothing. It is not just the practice of personal repentance but solving disputes, restoring relationships, asking others for forgiveness, and extending that forgiveness freely. Lent is not so much about giving up but giving more.

This is because Lent is preparation for resurrection life. We not only prune ourselves but prune each other so that we might grow in the faith and life of our Lord Jesus. Repentance is a death, it is a cutting off, but it is a cutting off so that the life of the body may be preserved. Your personal devotions this season should be toward those ends, not just for your health but the health of your brother and sister. Your practices of prayer, fasting, and repentance should be used like food for others. They should strengthen, nourish, and give joy to the body. May you season the sacrificial body of the Church with the salt of faith and repentance so that we all might be conformed more and more into the image of our resurrected Lord and have peace with one another.

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By In Theology, Worship

Dust & Ashes: A Lenten Exhortation

On the sixth day of creation, God made man from the dust of the ground. The dust that was taken from the earth was formed, fashioned, and enlivened by God’s own breath, glorifying the dust through its transformation into the man. This glorification was intended to continue. Glory was man’s beginning. Glory was man’s destiny. In between, he was moving from glory to glory.

We are given a hint as to how man would be glorified on the same day of creation. When God declared that it was not good for man to be alone and brought the man to that recognition, God put the man to sleep, ripped open his side, and from his side made the woman. The woman is the glory of the man (1Cor 11.7). Man would become more than he was in the beginning. More humans would fill the earth and man would assume control over and shape more of the world. Creation would continue to multiply, blossom, and become ever more beautiful.

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By In Church, Culture, Theology, Worship

Transfiguration & Asbury

Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him to the top of a mountain to pray (Lk 9.28). Mountain praying would not be something unusual to the disciples. Throughout history, God met with his people on mountaintops. History begins on a mountain in the land of Eden with a sanctuary at its heart. Abraham meets God on a mountaintop when he sacrifices Isaac. After being delivered from Egypt, the children of Israel worship at Mt Sinai, the same mountain where Moses met with God earlier in the burning bush. The temple is built on a mountain, and, according to Hebrews 12, we still ascend a mountain in our weekly worship. The three disciples had ascended mountains to worship throughout their lives, many times singing the Psalms of Ascent (Pss 120—134) as they went to worship festivals. But on this particular day, God pulled back the veil to reveal to them what happens on the top of the mountain every time they pray … even when they don’t see it.

God spectacularly revealed his glory. Though rare, this was not unique. The children of Israel experienced this at Sinai. Just as Jesus was transfigured before the eyes of the disciples, Moses was transfigured on the mountain. The children of Israel couldn’t look upon his face because of the brightness of glory (Ex 34.29-33). Some believe that this epiphany of Jesus was his divine nature bursting through the veil of his humanity. There is truth to that, but that is not the emphasis. Jesus speaks of himself in this context as the Son of Man. This reference gains layers of meaning throughout history, but its fundamental meaning is “Son of Adam,” the one to whom God gave the blessing and command to be fruitful, multiply, and have dominion. God’s intention for Adam, in the beginning, was that he grow to share his glory. Adam fell short of the glory of God (Rom 3.23). Jesus is the second Adam, the Son of Man, who will obtain this kingly glory. God reveals Jesus’ destiny in his resurrection and ascension and, with that, the destiny of man united with him.

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By In Culture, Music, Theology, Worship

Christmas Carols: Simeon’s Song

Death is not a subject we normally think about this time of year. We are in the Christmas season in which the new life of the infant, Jesus, is celebrated. The New Year is a few days away, and it is a time of new beginnings. The promise of new life in the birth of Jesus and that sense of a fresh start in the new year focuses our attention on life. But just as the shadow of the cross hung over the manger and the infant, so our own mortality casts a shadow on all of these new beginnings. Death is inevitable no matter how many new beginnings we have in this life.

I’m not trying to dampen your spirits and dull your celebrations, but death plays its role in our Christmas celebration. What I call the final Christmas Carol in Luke’s Gospel, the Song of Simeon, is surrounded by and shot through with the realities of death; Simeon’s death, the death of Jesus, and even a form of death for Mary.

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By In Culture, Music, Theology, Worship

Christmas Carols: Gloria in Excelsis Deo

The soprano solo begins with an unadorned recitative (that is, a melodic speaking that is essentially rhythmically free): “There were shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.” As the narrative moves forward, the accompaniment increases with a sweet but driving rhythm, building to the place where “suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying.” Then, majestically, the chorus joins in singing, “Glory to God, glory to God in the highest!” From that point on, voices sing in harmony and answer one another with the Gloria in Excelsis Deo, the song of the angels when they announce the birth of Jesus. In his Messiah, Handel captures well the mood and glory of the scene. When performed well, the sound that surrounds you and strikes your body with its power, tuning your whole being to its message, is rapturous.

As glorious as a well-performed Messiah is, it must be a dim reflection of what the shepherds heard that night when the angelic armies, the throne-chariot of God, sang the Gloria for the first time. Nevertheless, as dim as the earthly reflection might be, the angelic warriors were drafting earthly warriors to take up this song with them. The church has done so by including the Gloria in Excelsis in its historic liturgies for many occasions. We continue to sing the angelic war song because we continue to fight for that peace which is the aim of the song.

The song is brief, but it is pregnant with meaning. The song is composed with parallels that help us to understand its message. “Glory” is parallelled with “peace,” “highest” is paralleled with “earth,” and “God” is paralleled with “favored men” or “men with whom he is well pleased.”

“Glory to God” is not synonymous with “praise God,” though it certainly includes that. The angels are proclaiming the glory of God, and the glory of God is the manifestation of his life; it is the radiance of his character; it is the expressed fullness of all that he is and does. When paralleled with “peace,” the angelic choir is proclaiming the way God himself lives. God’s glory is manifested in peace. This peace is the full, joyful, healthy life that is shared among the members of the Godhead and those in heaven. God lives eternally at peace as Father, Son, and Spirit, and the aim of the creation project is to bring the earth to enjoy the fullness of this peace. The angels are prayerfully singing that God’s peace will be realized on earth as it is in heaven.

This peace of God will come to those whom God favors or those with whom he is well-pleased. These favored ones, the shepherds, Mary, Elizabeth, Zechariah, and others like them who hunger and thirst after righteousness–for God to set things right in the world–will be the recipients of this peace.

This peace will only come at the end of conflict because the present evil powers who despise God’s peace will not go down without a fight. With our King, we, the armies of God, will fight. The fight is not conventional fleshly warfare. “For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not fleshly but are powerful in God to the pulling down of strongholds” (2Cor 10.3-4). One of our weapons is to join the song of the heavenly armies. As David drove away the evil spirits through music (1Sm 16.23), so we, through singing with the angelic armies, “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace with favored men,” will advance the line against our enemy to eventually bring about the peace of which we sing.

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By In Theology, Worship

The Biblical Case for Emotions

Guest Post by Charles Jacobi

“We Protestants get nervous when talking about water and works,” penned Pastor Bill Smith in a piece for Kuyperian Commentary months back. We, Protestants of the Reformed tradition, have a robust history of rich systematization of the scriptures. But in our systematizing, we can lose the granular resolution and diversity of the holy text, resulting in our quease when someone quotes a verse seemingly contrary to our system. This isn’t to say our doctrinal formulations are incorrect—essential doctrine has been abstracted in the history of systematic theology—or that systematics is inappropriate. However, our posture must point to a need for semper reformanda.

We’ve done this with water and works like Pastor Smith points out. Also, with the rise of the modern New Apostolic Reformation types and Postmodernists, we’ve done the same with emotions. Surely much of the Reformed response to the growing hyper-charismatic movement(s) and subjectivists of the early 2010s was right and good as one need deny that experientialism and emotionalism are the standards of truth in themselves—or knowing biblical truths—but we’ve overcompensated. We’re hesitant to talk about emotion like the scriptures do for fear of coming off as experiential.

Take the emotion of joy, for example. Joy is one of the most mentioned emotions in all of scripture. The Psalmist is fond of using the term to express himself and describes a deep emotion-God relationship. He calls on Yahweh to “Make me to hear joy and gladness, Let the bones which you have crushed rejoice” (Ps. 51:8) and “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and sustain me with a willing spirit.” (51:12) According to these words, the psalmist seems to think God can generate the feeling of joy within his heart; that the nature of the joy-God relationship can be causal. He claims God can do this to inanimate objects even, “They who inhabit the ends of the earth are in fear on account of Your signs; You make the dawn and the sunset shout for joy” (65:8). Paul, too, pleads with God to “fill” the Christians in Rome with joy (Rm. 15:13) and reminds the Galatians that joy is a fruit of the Spirit (Gal. 5:22). Moses says Yahweh will “cause His people to shout for joy;” (Deut 32:43). There are other references in scripture that describe this emotion-God relationship as causal, but rarely do Reformed protestants speak about their emotion in such a way.

Cessationists, like myself, have created a boogeyman about subjective states. When a friend says something about their emotions contrary to the cessationist air, like, “I felt the joy of The Lord at worship today” or, “I was anxious, but The Spirit made me feel joy at that moment. Praise God!” our charismatic antenna perks up. We caution our brother his emotions are leading him and that he should steer clear from emotionalism and experientialism, yet this is all the while he’s nearly quoting David, “When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Your comfort delights my soul” (Ps. 94:19). Moreover, we do this while enjoying our own feelings of joy, awe, and reverence in our immediate experience while critiquing another’s. We likely perceive the same subjective phenomena. Yet, we speak and interpret those phenomena in different ways. Feelings of joy are described as both reactionary and Spirit-caused in scripture. So coupled with a rational temperament, what’s the issue with speaking about our joy as Spirit caused if one faithfully deduces that during worship? If we’re consistent, we ought not to let our emotions determine how we deduce the nature of emotion from scripture.

“Veering off into making the subjective-objective” is a likely response to my inquiry. But scripture describes a God that does generate emotion within us; when we’re downtrodden, fearful, or burdened. This is described objectively in scripture, speaking to something subjectively real: like the assurance of salvation, binding of the conscience, or holy guilt of sin. We’re open to voicing those subjective states as Spirit-caused, but we’re fast to skip over joy and other emotional states like comfort (Ps 71:21), peace (Rm. 15:13), satisfaction (Jer. 31:14), spiritual stirring (Haggai 1:14) and other good things (Ps. 107). If Yahweh gave (and gives) unbelievers a spirit of stupor (Rm 11:8) or drunkenness (Jer 14:14) as he pleased, and we’re fine with using causal language accordingly for those parties, it’s tenable to use language about our own subjective state when it’s warranted as well. It’s not experiential or mystical to speak like scripture does.

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By In Culture, Music, Theology, Worship

Christmas Carols: The Benedictus

Is Zechariah confused? What is singing about in Luke 1: a political, sociological, national deliverance, or a spiritual deliverance? On the one hand, he prophesies about “being saved from our enemies and all who hate us,” and on the other hand he speaks about John giving the “knowledge of salvation in the forgiveness of sins.” Maybe Zechariah is still trapped in the thinking that the Messiah would come as a military leader to deliver Israel. But wait, he also speaks about the forgiveness of sins. Can it be both?

Zechariah’s song resonates with the song of Moses after Israel’s exodus from Egypt. Words such as “visited,” “redeemed,” and “remember” all have echoes of the Exodus. Phrases such as being “saved from our enemies” and being “delivered from the hand of our enemies that we might serve him without fear” all point to Zechariah understanding what is happening with the birth of his son and of Jesus as being a new exodus.

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By In Music, Theology, Worship

Christmas Carols: The Magnificat

In the beginning there was God and nothing else. Then Word carried by Spirit begins to pulse in harmonious tones into the nothingness. A world outside of God himself begins to appear. The song sung by the Triune God creates and begins to shape the world. As each element in the cosmos comes into being through this song, the song continues to reverberate in each created thing’s existence. The morning stars created by the song echo back and enhance the song as they become millions of voices (cf. Job 38.7). Mountains and hills, raised from their watery darkness, break forth into singing as they emerge. The trees that spring from the earth clap their hands (cf. Isa 55.12). Sea creatures, birds, and land animals all take up the song and sing the song of their Creator. Then the song shapes the dust of the earth into the form of a man and breathes the song into him. And when the woman is created from the man, the song is then sung in praise to God for the woman.

God is musical. God is a singer. His speech is glorified, and his glory cloud is made up of angelic hosts who surround him with music. The prophet Zephaniah says that he exults over us with loud singing (Zeph 3.17). Is it any wonder why, then, from the beginning of our existence, music and singing have been so prevalent? We are images of the Great Musician. His song, his image, vibrates through every fiber of our being. We are intended to continue this song, continuing to shape and create the world in harmony with God.

But the music in us has become discordant and distorted. Sin has intoned its own tune that is completely out of harmony with the song that is still in the creation. Those who love the old song, the original song, lament the dissonance and long for a new song that will bring in a new creation. That new song begins to be heard in the opening chapters of the Gospel of Luke. First Elizabeth. Then Mary. Then Zechariah. Then the angels. Then Simeon.

The presence of singing is not merely the exuberance of a few individuals (though they are rightfully exuberant). The songs indicate that the old discordant creation is not only getting its song back, but it is getting a new and greater song that will resound throughout the rest of time until the song of earth and heaven become one song.

Mary’s song contains some of the first notes of the new creation. The song is being sung into a world that is upside down. The wrong people are on the thrones of the earth ruling in unrighteousness. The wicked are exalted while the righteous are lowly. The wicked are rich and full, prospering from sinful structures, while the righteous are poor in spirit and hungering and thirsting after righteousness.

But as the song begins to be sung by a young, Jewish, virgin lady, echoing the brooding song of the Spirit that hovered over her to create Salvation in her womb, things are changing. The long-awaited promises given to Abraham that his seed would inherit the world (cf. Rom 4.13) are present, even though immature.

The song will grow louder as the Spirit gathers more singers. The new creation will emerge. Where there are thorns the cypress tree will grow. The myrtle shall grow and overtake the briers. The mountains and the hills will once again sing with joy and the trees of the woods will clap their hands (cf. Isa 55.12-13).

As the darkness continues to be pushed back by the light in this Advent season and throughout the course of history, continue to sing the songs of the Lamb, empowered by and in harmony with the Spirit. New creation is growing by the Spirit who empowers our song. Sing on!

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By In Culture, Worship

A Quick Primer on What It Means to Be Ecclesiocentric

By Rich Lusk

Ecclesiocentrism is incredibly simple to understand and absolutely ubiquitous in Scripture.

The church is the central and most important thing in the world and in history.

That’s it — that’s the fundamental claim.

Ecclesiocentrism can be found on almost every page of the Bible. Some examples:
– nations are blessed/cursed according to how they treat the church (Gen. 12)
– God rules all things for the sake of his church (Eph. 1)
– Grace restores nature, but where is that grace found? In the means given to the church (e.g., in Psalm 128 the blessed man’s blessing comes from Zion, which is the church according to Hebrews 12)
– As the church goes, so the world goes (e.g., in Matthew 5 the church is salt and light)
– Ecclesiastical reformation drives cultural transformation (the lesson of Haggai 1)
– Judgment and reformation begin with the household of God (1 Peter 4)
– The discipleship of the nations and of every sphere of life begins in the church (Matt. 28)
– The church is the leading institution in society and church history is the core of world history (this is evident from the prophets, Acts, etc.)
– The Lord’s service on the Lord’s Day with the Lord’s people in the Lord’s sanctuary is the most important thing we do (the fall took place with a forbidden meal in the sanctuary; restoration is manifested through a meal in the sanctuary)
– God created the world for the sake of the church (as Luther said) so that his Son might have a bride (as Edwards said)
– The storyline of the Bible is basically the storyline of the church (e.g., when the prophets and Acts deal with history, they present the church as central to world events)

These paragraphs from Doug Wilson’s post this week is a good example of ecclesiocentric thinking:

“If we want unbelievers to repent of their sin, the first thing believers should do is show them how. Judgment should begin with the household of God (1 Pet. 4:17). How can we expect them to let go of their sins when we refuse to let go of ours? And more to the pinch point, evangelicals need to learn how to repent of things that we have serenely assumed to be our virtues.


We must repent of our etiolated gospel-centeredness. We need to repent of calling ourselves Jesus-followers instead of Christians. We need to repent of Instagraming our devotional times. We have to repent of our “Jesus is our girl friend” worship songs. We must repent of all our Jesus junk stores. We have to repent of our R2K schizophrenia. We need to repent of the anemic condition of our deracinated seminaries. We need to repent of still caring what Christianity Today prints. We must repent of caring more about our own reputations and turf concerns than we do about the condition of the kingdom at large—we sin like Hezekiah did . . . “peace and safety in my time.” We must repent of all our inverse John the Baptist moves—”they might decrease so that I might increase.” We must repent of caring more about not being publicly associated with worldview thinkers who make us feel extreme than we care about actually understanding the truth as the Word reveals it.”

His basic point: the world won’t change til the church changes. The church leads the way.

Ecclesiocentrists strongly resist dualisms that would marginalize or privatize the church. We believe the church has a public, even political character, as God’s holy nation. So, for example, in many “two kingdom” approaches (e.g., those of WS-CAL and Stephen Wolfe), it is claimed that the church should only deal with “heavenly” or “spiritual things.” The church helps people reach their heavenly telos, but has little to do with man’s earthly telos. So Wolfe says that Christians do not learn about earthly citizenship in the church. Presumably, the magistrate does not learn how to be a Christian magistrate from the church. The church should not teach on manhood/womanhood because those are earthly, not heavenly, concerns.

The problem with that is that the Bible teaches about all of those things and the church is entrusted with teaching the Bible. That does not mean the church’s teaching is exhaustive in these areas or that church is the only place that people learn about these things. But the church does have responsibility to disciple the other spheres.

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By In Theology, Worship

The Canterbury Trail: Liturgy and Reformation

Modern Reformation recently published an article by Gillis Harp with a very long title: Evangelicals on the Canterbury Trail: Reflections on the Pilgrimage to Anglicanism Nearly 40 Years After Webber’s Classic. Although I am not an Anglican, I read Robert Webber’s book, Evangelicals on the Canterbury Trail: Why Evangelicals Are Attracted to the Liturgical Church, and I found myself deeply sympathetic to his concerns. In fact, I have worshipped in Anglican and Episcopal churches at various times throughout my life, most recently between 2003 and 2008 when our family attended regularly the Church of St. John the Evangelist here in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada.

I did not know Webber very well personally, although I grew up in Wheaton, Illinois, home of Wheaton College, where he taught for many years. But he was a colleague of my wife, who was a faculty member in the same department for six years, and he was a guest at our wedding. I also contributed at least two articles to his Complete Library of Christian Worship. What drew many Christians to his project to recover the ancient glories of Christian worship was a recognition of the superficiality of their own traditions. As Harp observes,

Initial pilgrims to Anglicanism were not from confessional Protestant traditions but from revivalist and fundamentalist churches—communities that are typically independent/non-denominational, dispensational, or charismatic/Pentecostal. Webber himself was a graduate of the uber-fundamentalist Bob Jones University in 1956. Fundamentalist churches tend to see their tribe as the pure descendants of the early church, and they view other traditions with deep suspicion. As a movement, fundamentalism is deeply sectarian; it confuses major doctrinal issues with minor ones and makes minor disagreements into reasons to break fellowship. For understandable reasons, these tendencies have tended to rub many Canterbury pilgrims the wrong way.

But might Webber have captured only a narrow slice of Anglicanism? Harp thinks so.

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