On July 29, 2015 By Steve Jeffery In Books Like

The Christ of the Covenants

I’ve just been chatting with a friend about O. Palmer Robertson’s superb book The Christ of the Covenants. The conversation set me thinking again about the book (which as it happens we’re currently reading in the current module of the theology course at Emmanuel Training and Resources), and in particular about the very few points at which I might be inclined to offer a slightly different perspective from the one set forth by Professor Robertson. Here they are:

1. I’m not sure that the definition of “covenant” on p. 4 (“a bond in blood sovereignly administered”) is broad enough to accommodate all the relationships that are explicitly described as covenants in Scripture. Something more like “a relationship involving more-well-defined-than-usual demands and sanctions” might be better, provided those demands and sanctions are then defined in more detail depending on the identity of the parties in the covenant under consideration.

2. Related to the first point above, I wonder whether a broader definition of covenant might make it easier to see how the intra-trinitarian relations might helpfully be viewed in covenantal terms (without of course moving towards social trinitarianism or denying the significance of divine substance as an ontological category), thus making more sense of the biblical material in John’s Gospel, for example, where the ministry of the Son in history is seen as an outflow of the relationship between the Father and Son in eternity. (See p. 54.)

3. I wonder whether a more satisfying exegesis of Galatians might be given (see pp. 58-61) by taking into account the significance of the salvation-historic transition occasioned by the resurrection of Jesus and the inauguration of the new age in Christ, since in Galatians this issue appears (to me at least) to occupy more of the foreground of Paul’s concern than a critique of legalism.

4. I feel uncomfortable with characterizing the Mosaic covenant as “an externalized summation of God’s law,” describing its stipulations as “stark, cold, externalized,” and reducing God’s “law” to “an externalized summation of God’s will” (pp. 172-173). Actually, I feel more than uncomfortable – I feel downright twitchy. Merely on the basis of Deuteronomy 6:4-6; 30:14; Psalm 37:31; 40:8; 119:11, for example, it seems to me pretty obvious that under the Mosaic Covenant the righteous man had the law of Moses upon his heart.

But those quibbles aside, this is truly a great book. Well worth the investment of time needed to digest it thoroughly.

On June 9, 2015 By Steve Macias In Books, Culture Like

Why Christians Should Read Virgil

The works of Virgil are often associated with painful assigned readings and Latin lessons, but a careful reading of this Roman poetry can help the modern Christian understand the first century context of the Christian Church. The poetry of Virgil’s Eclogues, Georgics, and the Aeneid represents a new shift in classical literature, away from tragedy in the Greek sense and toward the expectation of a new golden age.

Virgil Writing on the Eve of Christ’s Birth

Writing in the period following the death of Julius Caesar (44 BC) and during a time of unrest and civil war, Virgil’s initial poetry longs again for peace. Recognizing that the power of the Caesar was not enough to provide a stable future, the poetry focuses on a greater motif of the goodness of creation and nature. Virgil’s agriculture poetry serves two purposes in that it remains relatable to their common life and points to the perfection of the original creation. In relating to his fellow Romans, Virgil’s pastorally lines about husbandry and agriculture remind us of those used a few decades later by the triumphalist born of a virgin who hailed from the town of Nazareth.

The parables of Virgil and Jesus offer accessible wisdom for a generation caught amidst uncertainty and turmoil – hope for people crushed by the weight of the Roman Empire. The use of pastoral parables by Virgil and Jesus are also aimed at the same goal of bringing forth the image of creation. Both the Yahweh of the Jews and the Jupiter of Olympus offer a perfect garden-city where man ought to return. Restoring paradise or returning to Eden is the cultural lens of these pacific scenes of simple farming life. With a clear common cultural context on this issue, it is no surprise that Western culture has kept Virgil in the realm of their own hagiography.

The Messiah’s Garden-City in Virgil’s Poetry

Virgil’s Eclogues represent the first and prophetic part of the poet’s commentary on the political future of Rome. It is here again that Western thinkers picked up on the more messianic triumphalism of Virgil’s writing. The golden age of Rome, according to Virgil’s fourth Eclogue, was to be brought about by the birth of a savior. The following lines represent a messianic view of the man to come:

Yet do thou at that boy’s birth,

in whom the iron race shall begin to cease,

and the golden to arise over all the world,

holy Lucina, be gracious; now thine own Apollo reigns. (2. 8-11.)

It has been speculated whether Virgil may have been influenced by Jewish or Eastern thinkers in putting forward a prophecy similar to those made by Isaiah. Although there is not evidence to suggest that Virgil interacted with the Hebrew writings or even that the later Gospel writers interacted with Virgil’s poetry. Virgil’s messianic verses have caused Christian thinkers throughout the centuries to consider the poet a type of prophet for Christ. The timing of this prophecy is perhaps one of the reasons Dante Alighieri employs Virgil as a “guide” in his own poetry in the Divine Comedy.

Virgil, Dante and the boatman, Phlegyas

Rome’s Version of “Thy Kingdom Come”

While the prophecy of Isaiah would predict the coming of a Messiah whose, “Kingdom would have no end” (Isaiah 9:7), Virgil’s later work would reveal Jupiter putting forth Rome as the “imperium sine fine” or the endless empire. The hope of Virgil’s triumphalism is the imminent realization of this savior to usher in the new world, albeit through Virgil’s personal identification with Roman patriotism, morality, and heroism.

Expecting that the Golden Age of Rome is at hand, Virgil is called to write his great epic The Aeneid. The story is again a garden story. The story of noble and perfect beginnings that Rome now longs for under their current emperor. In a triumphalist sense, Aeneas is to Adam what Octavius is to Jesus. The Rome that was once Eden is to be restored to wealth, virtue, and peace under the rule of the endless empire. There is in this climax a certain parallel between the Pax Augustus and Pax Christi.

Hail! King of the Jews!

Their parallels ultimately converge as St. John the Baptist announces the coming of Christ’s Kingdom. Christ’s role as the “Son of God” serves as a direct challenge to the narrative of Virgil with the Roman Emperor as “son of God.” This doctrine coupled with the Christians’ commitment to only worship the true emperor, is the source of the conflict between Rome and the Christian Church. Christ’s imperial reign begins at the edict of Pilate as this title was hung above his dying body: “Jesus Of Nazareth The King Of The Jews.” The Roman world hungry and ready for the Kingdom of the “Son of God” then follows the Roman Centurion, who at the foot of the cross transferred that title from Rome to Jesus.

Julius Caesar, Augustus, Tiberius, and subsequent Roman emperors were regularly referred to as “son of God” (divi filius)

Reading Virgil allows us to see how the Romans of the first century would have received Christ’s ministry and understood the reality of his kingdom. A hearty reminder that the sentimental and personalized Jesus born out of our modern age would make little sense to the ancient reader of the Gospels. Christ’s ascension was a clear picture of his enthronement and his reign from the right hand of the Father. The Kingdom really is now. The hope and longing of all of history is realized in the present reality of the reigning King who has and is making all things new.

The Banishing Of Fear Through Poetry: When Knowledge Increases Comfort

Guest post by Jerry Stout

Note: Jerry Stout successfuly defended his thesis before the board and teachers at Trinitas Christian School in Pensacola, Fl. This is his paper.

The greatest stories give the reader a sense of the natural and real. The natural and the real are the bedrock on which a strange and foreign sub-creation is resting. J.R.R. Tolkien did not want to force the realities of his own world into the stories of the Middle Earth so that he could convert the reader to his personal view. Verlyn Flieger says in her book Splintered Light, “In showing us his fantasy world Tolkien has enabled us to recover our own, to know it and ourselves as we were and are so that we may get some glimpse, however dim, of what we yet may be,” (65). The point of a sub-creation is to praise the creator of the primary world through imitation of the primary world. Tolkien uses his own primary world to create a secondary world of depth. One of the ways this depth is worked into his legendarium^{^[1]} is with the poetry in the Fellowship of the Ring. The poem of Beren and Luthien is a break in the flow of ordinary narrative. It is an escape of the primary story of the fellowship into the secondary story of Beren. The characters of the primary story are given a look into another in order to gain an understanding of what their own world can give them if they continue on their path. The forethought put into this double myth shows Tolkien’s genius in the art of sub-creation. The insertion of Beren and Luthien does not explicitly foretell how the Lord of the Rings ends, however the power of the Beren and Luthien story gives hope to the characters, and this hope is also transferred to the reader outside the story. Hope is the driving force of the Fellowship. Even though the poem does not come up again in the story, its song lingers in the memories and feeds the hope of the characters. Likewise, it points the reader toward the hope of a eucatastrophe^{^[2]} that is not evident within the story. Three characters in particular are affected by the poem, and each of these characters also represents three types of reader. I will explain the relationship between characters and readers, and show how the story of Beren and Luthien instills hope in both.

Tolkien created an entirely new world when he brought Middle Earth into being. He not only created the characters and a narrative; but he created detailed and complex languages, beliefs, and histories that are all unique to Middle Earth. Given this creative impulse, one must delve into what Tolkien thought of the nature of a myth or as he names it, fairy-story. Tolkien believed in a complex world that could be unpacked by the reader. But he did not want it to be a simple or easy task to do so. And so he put his story, The Lord of the Rings, within a vast network of history and myths inside the greater myth. In the same way that the New Testament is not able to be fully understood without the backstory of the Old Testament and becomes a book of morals taught by a moral man who gives his life for what he believes, so the Lord of the Rings becomes a simple story of a group of disparate races coming together as one to destroy the evil lord Sauron. It is the nuances that give the story its true depth. It is captured in the life and breath of the world in which the story takes place. Tolkien did not write his books to provide an escape from the world for he modeled his work on the world he saw. To run into his story in order to retreat from what was his inspiration is counterintuitive. You would not look at a painting of a flower in order to forget about flowers, nor would you listen to a song about heartbreak to forget about your own heartbreak. The inspirations, beliefs, and customs that went into the making of Middle Earth necessarily become evident, which is why it is beneficial to understand what kind of man Tolkien was. In the book The Author of the Century, Shippey emphasizes that Tolkien was adamant that his works were not works of allegory. When an allegory is written, the goal of the author is to use imagery to portray a point. The Fairy-Story on the other hand is using the truth found in creation and remolding it, the fairy-story contains the truths that are in creation. If they resembled the world that Tolkien knew it was his action as a sub-creator working under the rules and examples that the creator of the cosmos left him.

The greatest of the tales within Tolkien’s Silmarillion, a history of Middle Earth as told by elves, is the tale of Beren and Luthien. This epic is a combination of history and narrative. This tale is recounted as a narrative so that those reading it could learn the history through a detailed account. It is telling a story of a great man who commits great deeds of courage for the love of his life, but it is also providing a pattern for the later story between Aragorn and Arwen. Chronologically the first time that Beren and Luthien appear is in a lay[3]; however, Tolkien later wrote a shorter account of the narrative published in the Silmarillion.

The story begins with an account of a man, Beren, entering the woods of Doriath where he sees the elf Luthien singing, whom he calls Tinuviel; which means nightingale. He immediately falls in love with her and swears to do anything to win her hand. Her father, Thingol, promises Beren Luthien’s hand in marriage if Beren can return to Thingol with a Silmaril from the iron helm of Morgoth in the pits of Angband. Thinking that it is an impossible task, Thingol is confident that he will not have to give up his daughter. Undaunted, Beren swears that he will not return without the Silmaril in hand. Beren leaves the forest of Doriath and seeks help from the elven king of Nargothrond, Finrod Felagund. On the way to Angband, they are captured and brought before the greatest servant of Morgoth, Sauron. Despite torturing them repeatedly in an attempt to discover what they are doing, but Sauron is not able to get anything from them. They are eventually rescued by Luthien and the greatest of hounds, Huan. They are not able to save Felagund; however, so they continue on to Angband, just the three of them. When in Angband they reach the stronghold of Morgoth dressed as his servants, but are discovered and brought before the throne of Morgoth. Luthien casts a sleeping spell over Morgoth and Beren digs out a Silmaril from the crown on Morgoth’s head. They then flee from the stronghold but at the gates of Angband they are confronted with the wolf Carcharoth, a servant of Morgoth. Huan attacks the beast but he is overpowered and mortally wounded. Carcharoth then bites off the hand of Beren that holds the Silmaril, but the greatness and purity of the Silmaril is too much for the filth and darkness of the beast and the pain drives him mad. Beren and Luthien then return to Thingol and Beren shows him the stump of his arm, the hand of which still holds the Silmaril in the belly of Carcharoth. Thingol takes pity on Beren and gives him Luthien’s hand in marriage. Beren then hunts Carcharoth to retrieve the Silmaril and is killed by Carcharoth. Luthien too, having taken on the mortality of her husband, dies. In death, they plead with Mandros and return to life for a short while then they again pass away in peace.

The story of Beren and Luthien appears at a time in The Lord of the Rings where the road ahead looks nearly too dark to continue. However there is this moment in the trilogy where Aragorn starts to tell a portion of the story of Beren and Luthien to the Fellowship. Everyone present hears the tale differently based on their knowledge of the tale, but the idea and message of the lay is such that no matter what level of knowledge that each person has, the result is the same: the characters are given hope in the face of this looming catastrophe. This sudden glimpse of hope also transfers to the audience reading the book. However, the level of understanding that the characters have directly corresponds to the potency of the hope that is given.

Three arguments show that the story of Beren and Luthien gives hope to the characters within the story with different levels of potency. There are three different characters that are affected; and these three characters represent three different readers. The first character is Frodo whose small level of knowledge with the poem corresponds to the novice reader who has no knowledge of the background of The Lord of the Rings. The second is Sam who has a basic knowledge of the story. Sam corresponds to the more knowledgeable reader who knows the back story of Beren and Luthien. The last character is Aragorn who has grown up with the story of Beren and Luthien as part of his own history. He corresponds to the scholar of Tolkien who has read and studied Tolkien’s works.

“Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne in the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.” These are the opening lines of The Lord of the Rings. This short piece of foreboding poetry is what sets the mood of the whole story. To the reader who has immersed himself in the reading of Tolkien’s legendarium the poem introduces gravity and darkness into the novel. It brings to mind the history of the Dark Lord who befriended the races of Middle Earth and then betrayed them all. This passage also brings a great urgency to the quest. There has been an injustice in the world that needs to be fixed. There does not need to be a great description of the deeds of the Dark Lord in order to set the stage for the book. Tolkien is able to do the same thing with the little bit of poetry. But this is not the only time Tolkien uses the art of poetry to make a point within the narrative. The Lay of Beren and Luthien that is told in brief by Aragorn when he and the hobbits are on Weathertop is another such instance. This too is grave but the effect is not the same as the other poem. By reciting the story of Beren and Luthien, Aragorn intended to bring the hobbits comfort in a time of darkness and uncertainty. Cheer works with different levels of potency upon those within the story. For Aragorn the story has the greatest impact. Because he lived for so long among the elves, he knows the significance of the poem to the elves and so it has similar significance to him as well. In addition to this, he also relates to the story on a personal level. Aragorn sees the relationship between Beren and Luthien played out in his own relationship with Arwen. He is a mortal man who has fallen in love with an immortal elf and she in return has loved him back. Because of this personal note to the story, the hope provided by the story is more personal as well; the hope extends not only to the quest but also to his relationship with Arwen. The similarities between the two stories go further than the relationship between Beren and Aragorn. When Aragorn seeks the hand of Arwen, her father’s answer was that he could only marry Arwen once he became the king of Gondor and of Anor. The reunion of the two kingdoms is the bride price given to Aragorn just like the returning of the Silmaril was the bride price given to Beren. The ending of Beren’s quest gives Aragorn hope for his own.

So how does the reader who is familiar with the legendarium of Tolkien react to the telling of Beren and Luthien’s story in a way similar to Aragon? In his essay On Fairy-Stories, Tolkien describes the reaction to reading a fairy-story as that of pleasure. As he says, “Far more important is the Consolation of the happy ending. Almost I would venture to assert that all complete fairy-stories must have them,” (153). If the end of the Fairy-story is a happy ending then when the reader sees this story of Beren and Luthien, which he knows well, he will recall the happy ending in their story and parallel that happy ending with the possible happy ending of Aragorn. The knowledge that the reader has enables him to appreciate both Aragorn’s story and the eucatastrophy of his own story. He knows that the story of Beren and Luthien will be carried out in a much greater victory.

The moments of greatest peace and contentment come after an event that causes terror within the company of the Fellowship. When the hobbits reach Rivendell, it is after they are attacked upon Weathertop. When the Fellowship seeks sanctuary in Lothorien, it is after the battle in the Mines of Moria. The Lay of Beren and Luthien is one of the moments of peace for the hobbits. Aragorn tells them of his ancestors after they have fled the town of Bree where the black riders almost caught them. In this example, unlike the others, it is not the place they are in that gives them peace; however it is the act of singing that gives them the comfort. Sam knew enough from his time with Bilbo, who like Aragorn was well learned in the histories of the elves, that this comfort was clearly known to Sam for he was the one who requested a story: “Then tell us some other tale of the old days,’ begged Sam, ‘a tale about the Elves before the fading time. I would dearly like to hear more about elves; the dark seems to press so close,’” (Fellowship of the Ring 187). So what is the response to the dark pressing in close? It is to tell, or in this case, sing a song of a time when the dark did not overcome, though it drew close, even unto death. It is not that the darkness has been banished. It is more that the light provided by the song overcomes and becomes more real than the darkness. This is the greatest quality that Tolkien attributes to the eucatastrophe,

It is a mark of a good fairy-story, of the higher of more complete kind, that however wild its events, however fantastic or terrible the adventures, it can give to child or man that hears it, when the ‘turn’ comes, a catch of the breath, a beat and lift of the heart, near to (or indeed accompanied by) tears, as keen as that given by any form of art, and having a peculiar quality (On Fairy Stories,144-5).

Here Tolkien’s views on the consolation of fairy-stories come into play with the reader who, like Sam, only has a diminished understanding of Beren and Luthien. Sam has experience with the fairy-stories of his own world and would be able to see the pattern of danger or death and the redemption that is the happy ending. So too the reader understands at least on a subconscious level. Knowing this pattern and hearing this story will combine together to bring hope to the reader just as it has done for Sam.

The final character I will talk of is Frodo, the character who knows the least about the history of the elves. He is the least knowledgeable and so the least affected by the lay. He is the only character who is described as feeling chilled after the story was told. While the story was being told Frodo was not affected by fear. Tolkien writes, “All seemed quiet and still, but Frodo felt a cold dread creeping over his heart, now that Strider was no longer speaking,” (Fellowship of the Ring 190). For Frodo the power of the Lay extended only so far as the words being spoken. But while the story was being told, he was being transported out of the darkness into the light of fairy. The poetry used by Tolkien is described this way by Carle Phelpstead: “Verse is similarly used to extend the emotional range of the narrative in The Lord of the Rings,” (32). Frodo has this emotional extension that is felt by all who hear Aragorn’s words. He joins with the all who have heard the tale of Tinuviel and draws strength from the pure light given to him by Aragorn and by extension the elves, just as the men around Éomer share not only Éomer’s grief and love for their fallen king, but the courage that Éomer pours into them through his verse. “Éomer turns to measured and archaic alliterative verse to mark the passing of Theoden King while rousing his men to continued valor: ‘Mourn not overmuch! Mighty was the fallen, meet was his ending. When his mound is raised, women then shall weep. War now calls us!’ Yet he himself wept as he spoke,” (32). Poetry drives out grief and replaces it with valor.

“It is the mark of a good Fairy-Story, of the Higher or more complete kind, that however wild its events, however fantastic or terrible that adventures, it can give to child or man that hears it, when the ’turn’ comes, a catch of the breathe, a beat and lifting of the heart,” (On Fairy-Stories 154-5). The novice Lord of the Rings reader, when he hears the “turn” that is the story of Beren and Luthien can, like Frodo, feel the power and light of the song and be transported out of darkness into hope, even hope that defies articulation.

Some may question how much credit I give to the Lay of Beren and Luthien. How much can one short instance affect a story that continues many events and pages without referencing it again? It does seem that it holds a small part of the narrative and as it is quickly overshadowed by the attack of the black riders, the effects seem to fall away from the hobbits. “Then the shapes advanced. Terror overcame Pippin and Merry, and they threw themselves flat on the ground. Sam shrank to Frodo’s side. Frodo was hardly less terrified than his companions; he was quaking as if he was bitter cold,” (The Fellowship of the Ring 191). However, it is crucial for the story. In the timeline of the Fellowship, the lay appears right after a moment of terror. The four hobbits and Strider have fled Bree where they were almost killed, and have made camp for the night. They know that they are not safe, and rather than shivering scared in silence, Sam asks for a story to quell the darkness. The poem is what banishes the darkness for the moment. Without this momentary burst of light in the midst of the terror, they may not have been able to make it to through their next encounter with terror.

The Hobbits feel the terror growing closer and huddle together. They see three dark shapes coming over the crest of the hills. The black riders charge the hobbits and terror fills their hearts. The effects of the poetry are not as forgotten as it seems on the surface. Frodo breaks through the terror he feels and calls on the strength and light of the elves. “At that moment Frodo threw himself forward on the ground, and he heard himself crying aloud: O Elbereth! Gilthoniel![4] At the same time he struck at the feet of his enemy,” (191). As if by instinct, Frodo recalls the elves that he and Sam had seen walking through the forest of the shire and singing to Elbereth; and he finds the strength and valor to attack the black riders. If the song in the shire can give him the strength to drive out the paralyzing darkness, then the Lay of Beren and Luthien can give the Hobbits strength in future times of darkness.

Throughout the journey of the ring, the moments of rest and safety are times when music makes an appearance. For example, when the hobbits reach Rivendell they are surrounded by the elves music and it revives them from their journey. When Merry and Pippin are almost killed by Old man Willow they are saved by the singing of Tom Bombadil. Each of these are necessary to keep the spirts of the company from falling deep into despair. When Frodo and Sam are in Shelob’s lair and Sam has nearly given up he remembers an Elvish poem he heard from back in the shire: “’Galadriel!’ he said faintly, and then he heard voices far off but clear: the crying of the Elves as they walked under the stars in the beloved shadows of the shire and the music of the Elves as it came through his sleep in the Hall of Fire in the house of Elrond… As if his indomitable spirit had set its potency in motion, the glass blazed suddenly like a white torch in his hand,” (The Two Towers 713). Others would say that the novice reader would not be affected at all by the Lay. But I would say that their reaction would be much like Frodo’s own after Strider finishes speaking danger, and dread creeps back over the heart. As familiarity with the Legendarium grows the length and strength of comfort produced by the lay also grows.

The thing that Sam hopes for as he drifts into unconsciousness is to have his story told alongside that of Beren one-hand. The hope that he receives from a poem like Beren and Luthien is how he wishes to be remembered. In Sam’s eyes, it is the greatest example of heroism that can be achieved. The immorality that is achieved within a song is the afterlife; the hope of a people, Hobbits, who have no sense of an afterlife. The relief that he feels as he recalls his adventures gives him peace. This peace is also going to be felt by the people who will hear the tale of the Frodo of the Nine Fingers. It will give them comfort to accept death when it seems inevitable. Just as a song created the world of Middle Earth it is song that ushers in the new age of peace and freedom for the races of the earth. Poetry time and time again brings the eucatastrophe of Tolkien before the reader. The hope that Sam sees in “The tale of Frodo of the nine fingers” is a floodgate out of which pours the hope and possibility of a time where the darkness has been banished from the land. The poetry that carries the characters of the secondary world into the future also carries the readers of the primary world into the hope of future eucatastrophes.

Works Cited

Flieger, Verlyn. Splintered Light. Kent: The Kent State University Press, 2002. Print.

Phelpstead, Carl. “”With chunks of poetry in between”: The Lord of the Rings and Saga Poetics.” Phelpstead, Carl. Tolkien Studies. Vol. Volume 5. Morgantown: West Virginia University Press, 2008. 23-38. PDF File.

Shippey, Tom. J. R. R. Tolkien Author of the Century. New York City: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2000. Print.

Tolkien, J.R.R. “On Fairy-Stories”. The Monsters and the Critics. London: Collins Publishers, 2006. 109-161.

—. The Fellowship of the Ring. New York: Hought Mifflin Harcourt, 1994. 398. Print.

—. “The Return of the King. New York: Hougthon Mifflin Harcourt, 1994. 731-1008. print.

—. The Two Towers. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 1994. 403-725. Print.

[1] Legendarium is the word that in his letters Tolkien uses to describe his entire works. (See letters 131,153, 154 163)

[2] Eucatastrophe is Tolkien’s own term, which he defines in his essay “On Fairy-Stories” as, “the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous “turn”. . .a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur” (153).

[3] The Story of Beren and Luthien as it appears in the Lays of Ballerina.

[4] Elbereth Gilthoniel was a Valië, one of the Aratar, the wife of Manwë and Queen of the Valar. Elves love and revere her most of all the Valar, and they call upon her in the hours of deepest darkness.

On April 14, 2015 By Kuyperian In Books Like

S. D. Phelps: Travel Writing to the Glory of God

Guest Post by Mark Nenadov

Introduction

The donkey cowered under a considerable load. I wouldn’t have blamed the donkey—a donkey “scarcely larger than a good-sized sheep” and living in Egypt in 1860 doesn’t get much practice at the art of carrying six feet and nearly two-hundred pounds of Connecticut Baptist.

To make things worse, the rider enjoyed Egyptian cuisine and “rather increased [his] sizeable proportions” on “flesh-pots, to say nothing of leeks and onions.” He took it with good humour, observing how silly he looked. He felt “as though it might be proper for him to carry the donkey part of the time.”

The rider mentioned above is essentially unknown today. He was a Connecticut Baptist pastor named Sylvanus Dryden Phelps (1816-1895), not to be confused current day Phelps family of ill repute. Phelps was a very busy man, the longest-serving pastor of First Baptist Church in New Haven, Connecticut—a congregation which became the largest evangelical church in Connecticut towards the end of his ministry. He served as president of the Connecticut Baptist State Convention. He had a wife and several children. He was also a very active poet and hymn-writer.

The Trip and a Book

When Phelps’ congregation gave him leave to travel Europe and the Middle East, they provided him with a “liberal purse.” Their only stipulation was that he made a monthly report of his journey—which he did with vigour!

Thus First Baptist of New Haven indirectly contributed to somewhat of a niche product: Baptist travel writing. The resulting book, Holy Land with glimpses of Europe and Egypt: A year’s tour is a severely under-acknowledged gem. It weighs in at over 400 pages, though Phelps humorously bragged about its brevity.

From his writing, it is obvious that Phelps was a careful observer. His notes are rich in religious, philosophical, geographical, historical, political, apologetic, cultural, architectural, and literary observations. Phelps could be considered to be an early theological tourist–visiting many English dissenter burial grounds and documenting his encounter with Charles Spurgeon. He also wrote a poem about John Bunyan upon visiting his grave.

Phelps did not stop at documenting his trip. In true ministerial form, he also spent much of his vacation preaching sermons. In addition to his travel writing, we have an archive of sermons from fascinating places, such as along the Nile and in Jerusalem. He found many Christian companions, and at one point in Egypt he was in the company of ministers and deacons of Baptist, Presbyterian, and Dutch Reformed affiliation.

Sadness

When we think of travel writing, we shouldn’t think exclusively of good times laced with happy-go-lucky observations. Travelling through Europe and the Middle East was, and still is, hard work. Even Evelyn Waugh’s travel writings–which come many years after our subject’s era, show some of the same pressures and angst of travelling.

What is more, Phelps’ lost his mother and his youngest child–a four year old son–while gone from home. He doesn’t elaborate on these events extensively. However, being the loving husband and father that he appears to be, it is certain that Phelps had a difficult time being away from his family during such times of deep grief and loss.

Travel brings out the best and worst of us and a good travel writer needs must strike a delicate balance if he is to be read and appreciated. Phelps’ excelled in this area. He tells it like it is and is not afraid to complain quite forcefully and share some profound cynicism. However, it is equally laced with a light-hearted spirit that is full of faith thankfulness and emptied of pretension. That is a large part of what makes him all the more compelling to read.

Humour

Though Phelps is usually serious, understated humour squeezes through the edges at times. Perhaps at times there is a bit of G. K. Chesterton or Mark Twain in Phelps’ narratives. I’ve already mentioned the donkey incident. One of my favourites is an account of climbing up the pyramids, endowed with a low-key proto-Chestertonianism:

“It is…dangerous to climb over the higher steps, for if one should lose his footing…he would likely roll to the bottom with every limb and bone broken…all [the other tourists] were assisted by the Arabs except myself. Two of these half-naked and impudent fellows seize their victim by the hand…and drag him or her up, begging, flattering and threatening for bucksheesh, though they have already been paid. I determined to go up without their help. I had scarcely begun the ascent when two of them darted before me and bade me stop. I undertook to go around them, and they still hedged my way. I then pushed them aside with my Alpine baton, and went on, but they kept close to my side. I repeatedly assured them that I should not allow them to help me, but they persisted in following me two-thirds of the way to the top…They said my head would swim, my feet would slip, and my strength would fail; and they used some words both in Arabic and broken English by no means complimentary; but all in vain.”

The Blessing of Travel

At one point, Phelps shared the following perspective on travelling

“Travel brings pleasures and benefits, and a kind of education, that can be acquired in no other way. Opportunities are constantly afforded for observing the grand and beautiful works, both of nature and art, as well as for studying the character and habits of different peoples. No day need pass without something of good or profit seen, learned, or experienced. Even the annoyances that one meets constantly the discomforts and perplexities of journeying where passports, custom-houses, and various hungry officials detain and tax you… make you grateful for the land of your birth, and lead you to prize more highly its people, its government, its religion, and all its good institutions.”

He took delight in “Sabbaths abroad,” the “true Rest Days to Christian travelers” and “full of pleasant memories.” When used appropriately as a means of glorifying God and enjoying Him forever, our travel can become a means of grace in some sense. It both enables us to continue our other works with vigour and, as a cessation from our other works, becomes a thing of goodness in and of itself.

Conclusion

There are many fascinating aspects of Phelps’ life and legacy. I hope to expose some more details about Phelps in the future and am currently writing a biographical paper on him. I hope my feeble efforts can inspire some to follow in his footsteps and write about their travels to the glory of God! Phelps’ has a lot to teach us–hopefully we will be inspired by to “take up the pen.” At the very least, his inquisitive spirit and observant eye ought to be contagious!

Though largely obscure, Phelps’ writing may very well be in your church’s hymnal. If your church uses the Trinity Hymnal, an OPC hymnal published by Great Commission Publications, take a look at hymn #538. If you have the Christian Life Hymnal, it is #487.

When Phelps died, an obituary in a Brown University publication said the following:

“While uncommonly successful in ministerial work, a painstaking, zealous and eloquent preacher…an able organizer of …establishing many new churches while incessantly strengthening his own, Dr. Phelps found time for extensive travel and reading, which resulted in choice culture and made him one of the most agreeable of men.”

For more publications and updates on Mr. Nenadov, see Goodreads, Blog, Twitter, Linkedin, Website

On April 9, 2015 By Dustin Messer In Books, Theology Like

The Theological History of the Old Testament

When explaining a redemptive-historical approach to Scripture to those who’ve never been exposed to a “theological” or “typological” hermeneutic, I tend to spend most of my time emphasizing the Old Testament’s use of itself, leaving questions of the New Testament’s use of the Old for a later day. There are several reasons for this, ranging from pragmatic (people tend to be less familiar with specific OT passages, and are thus more open to new readings), to temperamental (I personally have more fun in OT discussions than NT bull sessions), to pedagogical. In regards to what I perceive to be legitimate pedagogical reasons, there are at least three:

Firstly, I want people to be trained at the same hermeneutical boot-camp that the apostles attended. Peter and Paul were not “making it up as they went!” Rather, they were implementing the tools and skills which they learned from Jeremiah and Isaiah. To be sure, the apostles had new revelation which significantly changed the “things” they saw, but they were “seeing” in a way congruent with preceding revelation. In other words, the flow of the Bible is set in Genesis; the rest of Scripture goes with that flow, even while adding greater specificity and nuance to the nature of God’s redemptive plan. If people are firmly grounded in the way, say, Micah interprets early revelation; they won’t be as scandalized by the way in which John references the OT. Furthermore, they will feel free and equipped to read the Scriptures in an apostolic way. Said negatively, they won’t feel as free or equipped to utilize a hermeneutic alien to the Scriptures.

Secondly, I want people to draw richer, more textured typological connections. Often, a theological reading of Scripture will only connect a given type with either (1) Eden/Adam, (2) Jesus, or (3) the Eschaton. Certainly, Protology, Christology, and Eschatology are the widest doors through which to enter the typological world of Scripture, but they’re far from the only access-points. For example, as the quote below will point out, David is not only a “new Adam” and a pre-prefigurement of Christ, he’s also a “new Moses,” just as the temple is not only a “new creation” but also a “new tabernacle and alter.” If you go straight to questions of the NT’s use of the OT, you’re likely to miss the canonical-complexity of a given type. However, if you’re familiar with the types drawn in the OT, you’ll see that the shadow of your substance also has a shadow; once both shadows are considered the substance becomes all the more substantive!

Lastly, I want people to see that the God of history is a poet, and the God of poetry is historic. This point is most easily shown through the creation account. Evangelical Interpreters generally line up on the side of “theological/literary” or “historical.” Theological folk tend to insist that the literary connections they see between the creation of the world and the temple, or other Ancient Near Eastern literature, make any historical claim about God’s creative act invalid. Meanwhile, the historical folk are so busy asking the questions proposed by science and archeology that they never get around to asking literary questions of the literature.

The solution must not lie in a total rejection of both parties. Rather, the solution lies in a rejection of the bifurcation fallacy imbedded in the presuppositions of both arguments. The very historicity of the creation account is theological, just as its theological implications are historical. Once one begins reading the historical books of the Old Testament with eyes to see the typological connections throughout, one finds the insularity of the “historical” and “theological” parties intolerable. The historical accounts recorded in Scripture invite the reader to make literary connections we typically associate with literary theory. Why? Because history isn’t a random series of events. No, history is a beautiful, epic comedy being told by the great Poet-Redeemer.

Perhaps the easiest OT book in which to see these typological connections is Jonah, which I’ve written on here. However, what Jonah has in ease, Chronicles has in rich-complexity! What the Chronicler is doing, which could be called “theological history,” is the hermeneutical heartbeat of Scripture. While I’m uneasy with some of Scott Hahn’s arguments in his self-described “Theological Commentary” on 1-2 Chronicles, I do think he does a generally good job of situating the Chronicler in his canonical context. What Hahn says below about Chronicles is equally applicable to most of the Old Testament. Indeed, if one spends adequate time considering the story, structure, and hermeneutic of the OT, the NT can be read for what it is: the climax of Israel’s history. Says Hahn of the Chronicler:

“Like any good historian, the Chronicler provides a record of past figures, places, and events; but his accounting is written in such a way that these figures, places, and events often appear as types—signs, patterns, and precursors—intended to show his readers not only the past but also their present reality from God’s perspective. David is sketched as both a new Adam and a new Moses; the temple is a new creation and a new tabernacle and alter. In the Chronicler’s account, the faithlessness and failures of Israel’s first king, Saul, are replayed by kings centuries later. Saul is more than a failed monarch: he becomes the type of the unrighteous king who leads God’s people to ruin and exile. In the same way, good kings in Chronicles do the things that David did—because David is a prototype of the righteous king.

Acknowledging this intensely inner-biblical and typological narrative technique is not to deny the historical reliability of the Chronicler’s account. Rather, I am suggesting that reporting history ‘as it happened’ is not the Chronicler’s sole interest. What happened in the past is crucial for the Chronicler, but only because in the what of history he sees the patterns of divine intention and intervention revealed—the why of history. The why of history is the reason for the Chronicler’s work, which seeks not only to document past events but also to interpret these events in light of his readers’ present needs for guidance and hope in the face of an uncertain future.

The way the Chronicler comes to understand, interpret, and explain the why of salvation history is through typology. As an intensely typological work, Chronicles gives us a typological interpretation of history (Hahn 2005c: 19-25). Typology for the Chronicler is a way to shed light on the unity of God’s plan in history and to show the meaning of people, places, and events in light of God’s covenant promises and redemptive acts. “[i]

[i] Hahn, Scott. The Kingdom of God As Liturgical Empire: A Theological Commentary on 1-2 Chronicles. Grand Rapids, Mich: Baker Academic, 2012. Pg. 6-7.

On March 18, 2015 By Peter Jones In Books, Scribblings Like

Book Review: Intellectuals

I do not usually post my book reviews, but reading this book helped me understand better our current cultural climate, in particular the elastic notion of truth that is so prevalent in politics, media, the church, and the university setting.

Intellectuals by Paul Johnson

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A book that is devastating to many of those that modern thinkers hold in high esteem, such as Rousseau, Marx, Tolstoy, Sarte and Brecht. Johnson knows a lot, has studied a lot, and is willing to call these men (and one woman) what they were: mean, greedy for fame and often money, immoral, hateful towards women and children, and above all persistent liars. Truth for them was malleable, especially when their reputation was at stake.

One reviewer said that Johnson ignored their good contributions, which is not true. He notes that if Tolstoy has stuck to writing he would have been fine. He says that Hemingway’s devotion to his craft was unsurpassed. But the point of the book is that they did not just write or speak. They thought they were messiahs who had some special destiny to guide humanity in truth. The theme is not what they did well, but how their lives were staunchly immoral, despite their accomplishments.

As I look around our world the thoughts and ideas of these men still echo, but it has shifted to Hollywood. Today it is not philosophy professors or even playwrights who shape thinking, but actors, directors, and the movies they make. Fascination with sexual freedom, the love of money, the shading of the truth in the name of Humanity, the desire to identify with the workers, excusing violence when it accomplishes their ends, and the vicious intolerance of all opposing viewpoints was characteristic of intellectuals and is now characteristic of Hollywood and our ruling class in general.

Unfortunately, Johnson’s book assumes, what can no longer be assumed, a standard of right and wrong that has long since be lost. Most who read it today will be fascinated, but ultimately will say, “So what that Hemingway was a drunk adulterer? Who cares that Marx lied? Who cares that men claimed to be pacifists, but often supported violence to accomplish their goals? What is that to me? I like their books and their ideas and their movies. And isn’t my opinion and feelings what really matters?” That response goes to show that, at least in America and Europe, the intellectuals have won.

View all my reviews

On March 18, 2015 By Kuyperian In Books, Politics Like

New Publication from Kuyperian Press!

Kuyperian Press is proud to announce the forthcoming publication of Dr. Gregg Strawbridge’s booklet on infant baptism. The Kindle edition will be available in the next coming days in preparation for his debate with Dr. James R. White on the topic on the 23rd of March.

On February 19, 2015 By Uri Brito In Books, Worship 2

Looking to Aslan

My daughter and I have been reading through The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. It’s a wonderful story, but it is also a wonderful theology of humanity. Lucy, the youngest of the four, finds herself in a game of hide and seek. She finds refuge in a wardrobe. The wardrobe becomes the secret pathway to a new world called Narnia. Upon arriving in this new world, she meets Mr. Tumnus, a faun.^a Mr. Tumnus discovers that Lucy is a daughter of Eve and further that she is not a threat to his well-being. He invites her for a cup of tea. Lucy, initially hesitant, accepts his kind request. Lucy enjoys the hospitality of the faun and falls peacefully asleep in the comfort of his home. Upon awaking, Mr. Tumnus is full of grief. He belittles himself for making a pact with the Witch. The deal was that he was to inform the Witch if he ever met a human. Lucy’s grace to the faun changes him. The Witch shows no grace, but Lucy does. Grace changes the faun. Once Mr. Tumnus gets a taste of the good, namely Lucy, he turns away and devotes himself to the good. Yet, he will soon discover that though he is forgiven, there is always pain when you associate yourself with evil.

Later in the story, Edmund, Lucy’s older brother, also enters the land of Narnia. He was mistrusting of Lucy’s original assertion that such a land existed beyond the wardrobe. Edmund is initially met by the Witch herself. Humans have always been a threat to the Witch’s rule over Narnia. She whispers words of deceit to Edmund. She tempts Edmund to accept her gifts. Edmund willingly takes it and offers her all the information she desires. The information undoubtedly will out all of Edmund’s siblings at risk, including little Lucy. The offer from the witch is equivalent to a type of wilderness offer where the devil offers food and royalty in exchange for loyalty.

The point of the story is that there is redemption from evil, even when you have made an alliance with evil. The redemption from evil begins when your heart starts to turn towards the good; we can say to be more precise, when your heart begins to turn towards God himself.

We know that there is redemption for Edmund in C.S. Lewis’ story. Later on he is known as King Edmund, the Just. But before he could become a Just King he needed to be humbled by a Just Lion named Aslan. Edmund, as you may remember, was full of doubt. He rejected the supernatural and even mocked Lucy; in essence, he mocked the good, true, and beautiful. Edmund cared nothing about others. He was merely concerned about his needs above anything else. The good news is that his heart began to turn towards Aslan. Aslan is pictured in C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles as a messianic figure; a tender leader and a great warrior.

The prophet Joel provides a tender picture of how Yahweh receives repentant sinners.

Joel begins with this apocalyptic promise of doom for Israel. Locusts will come and devour everything. But Yahweh says, “Change your ways and I will receive you.”

Joel 2:13 reads:

Tear your heart, and not your garments,
and turn to Yahweh, your God;
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abundant in loving kindness…

Yahweh is asking for the heart of a people. He wants their inner disposition to be changed towards him.

All these outwards signs that Joel speaks of matter little if the heart is not changed. What Yahweh is after is allegiance. Yahweh is a jealous God. “Turn to me,” Yahweh says. “Hear my voice and I will receive you and show you abundant love.”

There is a lovely little narrative later in Edmund’s story that makes this point. When Edmund finally meets Aslan in the story Edmund is encouraged by a forgiving leader. When Edmund is confronted by the Witch, she accuses him. The Witch is unaware of Edmund’s change of heart. The Edmund who naively accepted Turkish delight from evil has matured into accepting the delight that comes by embracing the good.

“You have a traitor there, Aslan,” said the Witch. Of course everyone present knew that she meant Edmund. But Edmund had got past thinking about himself after all he’d been through and after the talk he’d had that morning. He just went on looking at Aslan. It didn’t seem to matter what the Witch said. (13.37)

Edmund’s conversation with Aslan dispels all the after-effects of his betrayal. Edmund has begun to change radically and forever, and part of that change is that he’s not thinking about himself all the time. Edmund has begun to see that one voice echoes abundant love and mercy and another voice is deceitful.

Joel reminds the people of God to remember God’s mercy. And in very Narnia-like language Joel writes that Yahweh will turn the death of the land into a flourishing land where God abides:

Do not be afraid, you wild animals,
for the pastures in the wilderness are becoming green.
The trees are bearing their fruit;
the fig tree and the vine yield their riches.
²³Be glad, people of Zion,
rejoice in the Lord your God,
for he has given you the autumn rains
because he is faithful.
He sends you abundant showers,
both autumn and spring rains, as before.

This is not just the language of national repentance, but of personal repentance. During this season, God is calling us to know that when we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and full of mercy and grace and abundant in love. When we confess our sins, God is there to speaking to us words of grace and comfort. At that moment it doesn’t matter what evil may be speaking and accusing us as long as we keep looking to Jesus, our advocate.

“And as the Witch was speaking, Edmund just went on looking at Aslan. It didn’t seem to matter what the Witch said.” No. It shouldn’t matter. It really shouldn’t.

The faun is a half human–half goat (from the head to the waist being human, but with the addition of goat horns) manifestation of forest and animal spirits that would help or hinder humans at whim (back)

On January 21, 2015 By Thomas Kidd In Books Like

The Church and Robert Nisbet’s Quest for Community

I recently read Robert Nisbet’s classic work The Quest for Community (1953), a challenging and far-sighted book that attributes much of modernity’s unease to the collapse of the mediating institutions – village, church, and family – that traditionally stood between the individual and the state. It is a work that has inspired generations of reflection on the ongoing importance of local associations and “social capital” for the well-being of people and communities. Although Nisbet’s wide-ranging and philosophically ambitious book will be demanding for many readers, it is well worth the effort, if only to get a sense for his overarching argument. It seems as relevant as ever.

I was particularly struck by Nisbet’s comments on Protestantism and its tendency to weaken institutional religion. I might not go as far as Nisbet, for it seems to me that strong Protestant churches have had, if anything, a stronger sense of belonging and familial support than many Catholic and Orthodox congregations. Highly liturgical churches can have their own tendencies toward a superficial fellowship based on familiar rituals, but not vital relationships. Nevertheless, Nisbet’s cautions about the weaknesses of modern religion warrant attention:

The desire for religious freedom can be no greater than the desire for religious order. Lacking a clear sense of religion as a way of life, as an area of articulate membership, of status and collective meaning, man is not likely to to care for long whether he is free or not free in religious pursuits. In any event, despots have never worried about religion that is confined mutely to individual minds. It is religion as community, or rather as a plurality of communities, that has always bestirred the reprisals of rulers engaged in the work of political tyranny.

These comments cast light on the ongoing persecution of Christian churches in the Middle East, China, and elsewhere – churches with a compelling sense of collective identity, entirely separate from the state, are invariably perceived as threats by Communist and dictatorial governments of various kinds.

In America, we still enjoy substantial religious freedom, regardless of the worrying trends reflected in recent government intrusions on the sphere of religious liberty. But Nisbet is right that religious freedom cannot be an end unto itself – robust Christian community, worshiping God in spirit and truth, is the end of religious freedom. Individualized, privatized religion is unlikely to maintain orthodoxy or orthopraxy in the long haul. When the individual conscience rules, you get Henry David Thoreau, Rob Bell, and empty pews.

Individual choice and autonomy can entail an even more pernicious threat than simple liberalism, however. Indeed, it is one of the most besetting problems of all American denominations – the problem of the uncommitted, occasional attendee. These are the folks for whom life in the body of Christ is anything but “a way of life.” Their religion is a matter of supplementation and personal convenience. These are the folks who might come every few Sundays or so, but they don’t commit, don’t join, don’t invest, don’t give, and don’t serve. I don’t know that this is a uniquely Protestant problem, but it is a problem of individualized, private, voluntary religion – a hallmark of American faith since the Revolution.

Not that we would want to return to an established church or legally mandated church attendance as a solution. But church leaders can set expectations that the Christianity practiced in their congregation – for those “working the program” – is not just a matter of entertaining programming or even of reliable teaching. It is an all-encompassing way of life, where “normal Christianity” means joining the church, committing to a fellowship group, bringing your family into the rhythms of church life (rather than, say, bowing to the rhythms of sports-team schedules), giving financially, and serving in at least one ministry area. Such mobilized congregations will have the kind of fully-orbed, loving social dynamic that the Bible anticipates and the early church certainly practiced. They might also serve as the kind of mediating institution which Nisbet and others have realized that contemporary Americans so desperately need.

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Originally posted at Patheos<>

On January 6, 2015 By Dustin Messer In Books, Politics, Scribblings Like

Theology as Language

Even when I quibble with points here and there, I never read Vinoth Ramachandra’s work without being moved and changed; Subverting Global Myths: Theology and the Public Issues Shaping Our World is no exception. Here’s a worthwhile nugget:

“Christian theology is more than a set of doctrinal beliefs or systematic arguments. It is a way of seeing, of so dwelling in a particular language and doing new things with that language that its revelatory and transformative power is manifest in the world. That language arose out of specific historical events that both constitute us as the ekklesia of Christ and call forth characteristic social practices such as thanksgiving, forgiving, exposing evil, truth-telling, welcoming the broken and the hopeless, and bearing testimony to grace. Such a theology seeks comprehensiveness, because it seeks to bear prophetic witness to One whose speech-acts heal, renew and transform the world in its entirety, but its own speech is always broken, sharing in the not-yet-redeemed character of the world.”<>mobi online реклама в гугл