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On July 8, 2015 By In Culture, Film, Theology

Gran Torino, Unforgiven, and the Justice of God

Gran Torino

Both of these movies are rated-R and contain quite a bit of salty language. Unforgiven also has some sexual content.  I will be giving the basic plot of the each movie including the ending. So if haven’t seen them and plan to you may want to come back. 

Gran Torino  is directed by and stars Clint Eastwood. He is an old Korean War vet who lives in Detroit. The movie opens with his wife’s funeral. His neighborhood has been overrun by Asians. He is the last white man left. He spends his days keeping up his yard, drinking at the bar, mocking the local priest, and yelling racial epithets at his Asian neighbors. Through a series of events he becomes friends with the Asian family next door and begins to mentor the teenager in the family, which includes teaching him to cuss and work hard.  A local gang insists that the boy join up, but he refuses.  This gang ultimately beats up and rapes (this is not seen on screen) the boy’s sister in retaliation for his refusal to join the gang as well as his friendship with the veteran. No one will give up the men in the gang. The neighborhood is silent. Eastwood figures out that this boy will never be free of the gang. The movie ends with Eastwood going to the gang’s house unarmed. He tricks them into killing him in public so they will go to jail and the boy and his family can be free. He sacrifices his life so the young man can have a new life.

Unforgiven is another movie which Eastwood directs and stars in. He is a washed up gunfighter in his last days. His wife is dead. He is weak. The movie begins with him chasing a pig around the pen and ultimately falling in the slop.  He agrees to take on one last job with a young, hotheaded gunfighter who dreams of glory but does not understand the cost of killing men. Eastwood recruits his old partner, Morgan Freeman, to help them. They do the job, which means killing a man and his partner who cut up a prostitute’s face. In the process they come in conflict with the tyrannical, local sheriff, Gene Hackman. Hackman ultimately kills Morgan Freeman in brutal fashion. The movie ends with Eastwood coming back to town and taking vengeance by shooting Gene Hackman. Unforgiven is not your typical revenge movie. Killing in the movie takes a toll. Eastwood does not want to talk about his gun slinging days. He dreams of men he has killed covered in maggots. Killing is not glorified. Yet it still is a revenge flick. Eastwood’s wrath is on full display at the end as he points his gun at Hackman’s face.

 

As Christians we typically look at these two movies and see one that tells a Christian story of sacrifice for others and one that tells a non-Christian story of revenge. However, this is splitting apart what should not be torn asunder. Our God is a God of vengeance (Romans 12:19). Vengeance and wrath are part of the Christian story. They are part of God’s character. The story of Jehu’s purging of Ahab’s house is a great, bloody example of God’s wrath poured out on man. But wait you say, “Unforgiven is not about God’s wrath. It is about man’s wrath.” To which I say, “That is all a movie can do.” In movies men can be little Christs sacrificing for those around them or they can be little Christs executing vengeance on the wicked. Just as Gran Torino is Christ’s sacrifice put on the small screen so Unforgiven is the wrath of Christ put on the small screen as well. (I am not saying the director meant it that way or that it is a perfect representation.) We reap what we sow. Justice will be served. Wrongs will be set right. The wicked will either take the sacrifice of Christ or will pay with eternal damnation. Christ’s blazing sword is as real his bloody cross.

This is not a wholehearted defense of revenge movies. Bloodlust is a problem in our culture, especially among young men. Movies like Unforgiven can appeal to that lust for blood instead of a longing for justice. Revenge movies can exploit violence in a way that is not good. And few of them are done as well as Unforgiven. But revenge movies resonate with us for a reason: we long for justice. When Gene Hackman whips Morgan Freeman to death we know that something has gone  wrong.  Freeman was not perfect, but Hackman is a monster behind his badge and smile. So we wait for justice and vengeance. Eastwood’s shotgun is that justice. A father’s daughter is kidnapped and killed. The police never find the culprit. So we wait for justice. Nine people are killed at a Bible study. We wait for justice. Christians are beheaded, nuns are raped, children are exploited and we wait for justice. Old men are mocked, babies are chopped up, sodomy is praised, and we wait for justice. Sometimes justice comes in the form of  the magistrate’s sword. Sometimes it comes in other forms, such as rival gangs, cultural decline, or diseases brought on by wickedness. It can come at the Cross. It may come on the Last Day when all will stand before Christ.  But justice will come. Revenge movies remind us of this. They remind us that the character of God is not just seen at the Cross, but is also in the fires of Hell.

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On June 5, 2015 By In Culture, Family and Children, Theology, Wisdom

God Is Not Enough: The Story of Christian Community

Guest post by Pastor Rich Lusk

God pic

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.

—

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.

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On June 2, 2015 By In Theology, Wisdom, Worship

Choosing a Denomination for the Wrong Reasons

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I recently had coffee with a friend who is seriously considering leaving one denomination for another. His reasons for seeking my advice had less to do with my wisdom and more to do with my experience. After growing up in a godly, Baptist home—after years of ministry in a healthy Southern Baptist Church—indeed, after graduating from an excellent Baptist college, I became a Presbyterian. To be sure, I left the SBC in a good mood. I wouldn’t trade my Baptist upbringing for the world, and I still reference my notes from Chad Brand’s Baptist History class on a regular basis—his brilliance is still awe-inspiring.  My transition from the SBC to the PCA felt more like a skip than a leap. Said differently, my conversion wasn’t motivated by any perceived weakness in the Baptist tradition. I left because of what I saw as the strengths of the Reformed tradition. This, I now believe, was a mistake.

Now, before you go questioning my Reformed bona fides, allow me to explain. I’m a committed Presbyterian. My denominational fate was sealed the moment I saw the most beautiful girl in the world wearing a shirt that read “Presbyterian!” God uses “means” to lead us, and sometimes those means wear perfume and have the whole of the Westminster Shorter Catechism memorized. In those cases, you marry the means! It was destiny—maybe even pre-destiny. But back to the point at hand, I’m a happy Presbyterian. I still hold to all of the theological positions and interpretations which motivated my realignment in the first place (and I’m still married to the beautiful Presbyterian!). What I believe was a mistake, looking back, was my optimism. I viewed the baptismal font as half-full, in other words. If I had it to do over again, I would have joined the PCA for her weaknesses, not her strengths.

If you only choose a denomination because of her “best practices,” you’ll always be disappointed. Calvin won’t be your Presbyter, Cranmer won’t be your Bishop, your church will likely not be on Wesley’s circuit. Joining a denomination because of her strengths has a way of making the convert somewhat grumpy. We view ourselves as second generation Israelites in exile, longing for a home we’ve never known. Depending on what you consider the “promised land,” the denomination is too rigid or too lax, too ingrown or too compromising, too modern or too post-modern, too traditional or too progressive. With this mindset, the pastor-brother who does things differently is viewed as a competitor at best, and mere rust on a ship at worst. Churches, further, are simply battle grounds to be won or obstacles to be overcome.

This “competitor” and “battle” mentality is the natural result of choosing a denomination based on “best practices.” After all, think of the theological cage fights which brought you to the denomination in the first place. The choice between Catholic and Protestant consisted of a 4th century theologian against a 16th century theologian. If the Protestant won, you then pitted representatives from various traditions against one another: Calvin v. Arminius, or Whitfield v. Wesley. All of this tussling and you still hadn’t landed on a denomination! Now you had to have Schaeffer v. Van Til, or Keller v. Hart, maybe. Each battle got more and more precise, moving from boxing matches, to basketball games, to chess tournaments.

Of course, the problem isn’t with the competitions themselves. If there is such a thing as “truth” it’s worth finding, and we shouldn’t expect to come to it without a busted lip or two. The problem is with the stakes of the fights: namely, denominational loyalty. If Keller beats Hart, you join the PCA instead of the OPC. However, there are people who sound more like Hart than Keller at General Assembly. Surely, this won’t do—after all, Keller won! Your job, then, is to reenact the “Keller v. Hart” match on the floor of GA and in the halls of your church. Again, in the mind of the arguer, the stakes are the same: denominational loyalty. The winner is “in” and the loser is “out.”

The alternative to choosing a denomination because of her “best practices” is choosing a denomination because of her “worst practices.” Then, your choice isn’t between “X 4th century theologian and Y 16th century theologian.” You can keep them both! Rather, you’ll decide between “X sin (praying to an icon, say) and Y sin (anemic view of the sacraments, say).” Choose the denomination because, at its worst, it still doesn’t command you to do something God forbids or forbid you from doing something God commands. Meticulously account for the “worst” in each denomination, all along the way asking: “can I live with this?”

If you can’t live with X in a denomination, then spare everyone the heartache and don’t join the denomination which consists of many who hold to X. However, if you’re able to live with the state of the denomination, even after evaluating what you perceive to be her “worst practices,” then by all means, join! This doesn’t mean you can’t debate serious theological issues with your brothers and sisters. It simply means that your brothers and sisters are just that, and neither the “winning” nor “losing” party will be excluded from the next family picture. 

My friend asked me to get coffee because he wanted advice. After much listening, I simply told him the following: view the baptismal font as half-empty. Sure, love the “best” that your tradition has to offer, but make sure your love is for the denomination you’re joining, not the one in your mind. After all, the utopian-denomination of your mind likely never existed in the first place! Don’t be so homesick for Eden that you fail to march on to the New Jerusalem. Make your peace with the church’s purity, and then do your best to preserve her purity and peace.

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On May 30, 2015 By In Theology

Ten Quotes from Delighting in the Trinity

If you have haven’t read Michael Reeves’ wonderful book Delighting in the Trinity you should. With joy and wit, he introduces us to the Trinity and what that means for our Christian faith. He inserts numerous quotes from other men along with illustrations and pictures.  Tomorrow is Trinity Sunday so here are ten of my favorite quotes from the book.

Delighting in the Trinity

Christianity is not primarily about lifestyle change; it is about knowing God.

I could believe in the death of a man called Jesus, I could believe in his bodily resurrection, I could even believe in a salvation by grace alone; but if I do not believe in this God, then, quite simply, I am not a Christian. And so, because the Christian God is triune, the Trinity is the governing center of all Christian belief, the truth that shapes and beautifies all others. The Trinity is the cockpit of all Christian thinking.

It is not, then, that God becomes sharing; being triune God is a sharing God, a God who loves to include. Indeed, that is why God will go on to create. His love is not for keeping, but for spreading.

Even the most basic all to believe in the Son of God is an invitation to the Trinitarian faith.

As it is, there is something gratuitous about creation, an unnecessary abundance of beauty, and through it blossoms and pleasures we can revel in the sheer largesse of the Father.

Martin Luther picked up Augustine’s line of thought to define the sinner as “the person curved back in on himself,” no longer loving like God, no longer looking to God, but inward-looking, self-obsessed, devilish. Such a person might well behave morally or religiously, but  all they did would simply express their fundamental love for themselves.

Jesus’ self-giving love is entirely unconstrained and free. It comes, not from an necessity, but entirely out of who he is, the glory of his Father. Through the cross we see a God who delights to give himself.

A problem similar to Sadoleto’s happens when the Spirit is thought of as a force and not a person. Again it gives the impression of God up in heaven lobbing down tokens of his blessing (“the force”) while himself remaining all distant. And if that is how it is, then I can hardly have communion with this force (or with the Father or the Son):the Spirit must be a power I am to get a hold of and use as I get on with my life. Some do magic; others have money and the latest beauty products; I use the Spirit. And if I manage to use the Spirit more than other Christians, hurrah, for spiritual me.

As it is, because the Christian life is one of being brought to share the delight the Father, Son, and Spirit have for each other, desires matter…What we love and enjoy is foundationally important. It is far more significant than our outward behavior, for it is our desires that drive our behavior.

The anti-theist’s problem is not so much with the existence of God as with the character of God…In my own experience, talking with non-Christian students, again and again I find that when they describe the God they don’t believe in, he sound more like Satan than the loving Father of Jesus Christ: greedy, selfish, trigger-happy and entirely devoid of love. And if God is not Father, Son, and Spirit, aren’t they right?

And One

With this God, it is not as if sometimes he has love and sometimes he has wrath, as if those are different moods so that when he’s feeling one he’s not feeling the other…Like God’s holiness, then, his wrath is not something that sits awkwardly next to his love. Nor is it something unrelated to his love. God is angry at evil because he loves.

 

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On May 13, 2015 By In Culture, Theology

No Adam, No Christ

Here are some quotes from J.P. Versteeg’s book Adam in the New Testament. 

In this first quote, he is addressing the argument that Paul thought Adam was historical, but now we know he was not. He shows that despite claims to the contrary, this idea unravels Christ’s work as a historical event. 

Therefore, if in the case of Adam the intention of Paul in his own time is divorced from its significance for us today, that must also have consequences with respect to Christ. For the redemptive-historical correlation between Adam and Christ entails that if what Paul says about Adam no longer holds for us [i.e. that Adam was a historical figure standing at the beginning of the human race], it is impossible to see why what he says about Christ in the same context must still hold for us. What is the sense of an antitype, if there is no type? What is the sense of fulfillment, if there is nothing to fulfill? The redemptive-historical correlation that Paul sees between Adam and Christ means that no longer honoring Paul’s intention when he speaks about Adam must entail no longer honoring Paul’s intention when he speaks about Christ…To no longer honor Paul’s intention when he speaks about Adam entails that the framework in which Paul places Christ and his work, collapses.

Versteeg again, quoting another author:

And suppose that Paul…did indeed believe in the historicity of the first Adam but that is this is no longer relevant for us…because we are only interested in the function of Adam as a ‘teaching model’ why should we…not take the same view regarding the last Adam?

Versteeg brings up an interesting point regarding the guilt of man if we deny a historical Adam. Christians have held that sin entered the world because our representative head, Adam, chose to eat of the fruit in the garden. In Adam, we all sinned. There has been debate about how this works itself out, but the basic structure is essential to Christian orthodoxy. What happens when there is no historical Adam (and Eve) to sin? Here is what Versteeg says:

If Adam only lets us see what is characteristic of everyone because Adam is man in general so that the sin of Adam is also the sin of man in general, and if on the the other hand Adam may no longer be regarded as the one man through whom sin has come into the world, it is apparent that in a certain sense sin belongs to man as such. Sin thus has become a given “next to” creation…In Romans 5 Paul intends to say how sin has invaded the good creation of God. The concept “teaching model” cannot do justice to [Romans 5]. If Adam were only a teaching model, he would only be an illustration of man in whom sin is inherent. The concept “teaching model” eliminates the “one after the other” of creation and fall, and leaves only room for the “next to each other” of creation and sin. In essence, then, one may no longer speak of the guilt of sin…Where evil thus becomes a “practically unavoidable” matter, sin loses its character of guilt. 

I had not thought of the historicity of Adam from this angle before. Normally, I think of Adam in reference to Christ and salvation, not man and sin. But of course, these cannot be separated. If we mess with Adam, we mess with Christ, sin, redemption, man, and—as Richard Gaffin argues in his foreword—the resurrection, in the process. Where do sin and guilt come from if there was no Adam? Have they always been? Is sin inherent in man? Did God create man sinful? How can man be guilty if sin has always been? If sin has not always been, when did it enter? Who/what brought it in? 

I am convinced that a denial of a historical Adam leads naturally and logically to heresy. As Versteeg says:

To be occupied with the question of how Scripture speaks about Adam is thus anything but an insignificant problem of detail. As the first historical man and head of humanity, Adam is not mentioned merely in passing in the New Testament. The redemptive historical correlation between Adam and Christ determines the framework in which—particularly for Paul—the redemptive work of Christ has its place. That work of redemption can no longer be confessed according to the meaning of Scripture, if it is divorced form the framework in which it stands there.

Not all who deny the historical Adam become or are heretics, but given their framework, there is no reason they couldn’t be. To capitulate here is to begin unraveling the basics of Christian orthodoxy, and most importantly, to strip away the glory of Christ’s work in redeeming fallen man.

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On April 28, 2015 By In Theology

This Is My Body Broken For You

Guest post by Michael Hansen

One of my deepest concerns with the way many churches now operate is in their exclusion of the Lord’s Supper from their services of worship. The reason this concerns me is because the Lord’s Supper is a place where the church is forced to look itself in the mirror. When Christ welcomes the congregation to the table of fellowship, we are confronted with the reality that he is far more welcoming and hospitable than we are.

Look around the congregation.

How many people can you count that you would invite to your table? There are great sinners in the congregation. There are people you don’t like. But all of these people are welcomed to the Lord’s table at the Lord’s invitation.

Jesus once told his disciples that he will draw all men to himself when he is lifted up (John 12:32). What happened to Jesus when he was lifted up? He was broken. What happens to the bread when the minister lifts it up before the congregation? It is broken. The Lord’s Supper is much more than an act of remembrance for individual Christians. The Lord’s Supper is a participatory event where all men find themselves drawn to Christ’s broken body.

When Jesus’ body was broken, the walls of separation between Jew and gentile, male and female, slave and free, black and white were broken as well (Gal. 3:28). This happens in the Lord’s Supper.

Look around the congregation.

How many people look just like you? Are they all white (let’s hope not)? Are they all black (let’s hope not)? Are they all republicans or democrats (let’s hope they’re libertarians)? No, there are people from all walks of life, all races, all socioeconomic classes and ideologies, being drawn to the broken body of Christ.

The church is a body of many members. Further, God’s word serves as a two-edged sword cutting to the hearts of his people (Heb. 4:12), who have become living sacrifices (Rom. 12:1). Throughout the service, God’s word has cut His church into pieces just as the Levitical sacrifices were cut into pieces. But the service does not end here. The church must learn that we are only broken by God’s Word because the Word of God was broken for us: “This is my body broken for you.” Moreover, as the body of many members (the church) partakes of the broken body of Christ, we are made whole again by our participation in the one loaf (1 Cor. 10:17).

Perhaps the reason there is so much strife in the church nowadays is because we are not communing with one another as we ought. Our ultimate allegiances need to be formed not by who we would invite to our tables, but by whom Jesus, weekly, invites to his.

(Originally published on Torrey Gazette)

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On April 18, 2015 By In Family and Children, Theology

Is the Trinity Egalitarian?

Trinity Egalitarian

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.

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On April 9, 2015 By In Books, Theology

The Theological History of the Old Testament

david

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.

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On April 4, 2015 By In Theology

What Happens the Day Before Easter?

The Passion Week provides vast theological emotions for the people of God. Palm Sunday commences with the entrance of a divine King riding on a donkey. He comes in ancient royal transportation. The royal procession concludes with a Crucified Messiah exalted on a tree.

The Church also celebrates Maundy Thursday as our Messiah provides a new commandment to love one another just as He loved us. We then proceed to sing of the anguish of that Good Friday as our blessed Lord is humiliated by soldiers and scolded by the unsavory words of the religious leaders of the day. As he walks to the Mount his pain testifies to Paul’s words that he suffered even to the point of death. But hidden in this glaringly distasteful mixture of blood, vinegar, and bruised flesh is the calmness of the day after our Lord’s crucifixion.

After fulfilling the great Davidic promise in Psalm 22, our Lord rests from his labors in the tomb. Whatever may have happened in those days prior to his resurrection, we know that Christ’s work was finished.

The Church calls this day Blessed Sabbath or more commonly, Holy Saturday. On this day our Lord reposed (rested) from his accomplishments. Many throughout history also believe that Holy Saturday is a fulfillment of Moses’ words:

God blessed the seventh day. This is the blessed Sabbath. This is the day of rest, on which the only-begotten Son of God rested from all His works . . .(Gen. 2:2)

The Church links this day with the creation account. On day seven Yahweh rested and enjoyed the fruit of his creation. Jesus Christ also rested in the rest given to him by the Father and enjoyed the fruits of the New Creation he began to establish and would be brought to light on the next day.

As Alexander Schmemann observed:

Now Christ, the Son of God through whom all things were created, has come to restore man to communion with God. He thereby completes creation. All things are again as they should be. His mission is consummated. On the Blessed Sabbath He rests from all His works.

Holy Saturday is a day of rest for God’s people; a foretaste of the true Rest that comes in the Risen Christ. The calmness of Holy Saturday makes room for the explosion of Easter Sunday. On this day, we remember that the darkness of the grave and the resting of the Son were only temporary for when a New Creation bursts into the scene the risen Lord of glory cannot contain his joy, and so he gives it to us.

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On April 3, 2015 By In Theology

The End of the Serpent’s Sting: A Good Friday Meditation

There is a venomous snake in the garden. While the great Messiah and his disciples enter the garden, a certain snake-like figure named Judas knows precisely where the faithful are. He enters the garden knowing that this was a place of constant fellowship and peace. But Judas is not a man of peace and his fellowship with the Messiah has been broken. He is now a man at war and his loyalty is with the darkness.

In the Garden of Eden, the Great Serpent entered the garden to bring about chaos; to tempt the first Adam. Indeed he was successful. The first Adam failed in his loyalty to Yahweh, being deceived by the serpent in the garden, and thus, thrusting all mankind into a state of sin and misery. Now in John 18, the New Serpent enters the garden. He is possessed by the same devil that possessed the serpent in Genesis. It is this precise battle that is unfolding before us in this text. The question is: “Who owns the garden?”

Does Judas with his new found commitment to darkness and evil own the garden or does Jesus own the garden? As the text reveals to us we see that Judas, the son of perdition, seems to have the upper hand in this sacred dispute. In verse 12 we read:

So the band of soldiers and their captain and the officers of the Jews arrested Jesus and bound him.

Jesus is arrested and bound. They take him out of the garden bound like a defeated enemy. Now, in every conceivable scenario, this would be the historical determination that Jesus has lost. But if the Messiah is to bring this unshakable and unmovable kingdom with his coming, then how does this binding, this apparent defeat in the garden connect with this glorious kingdom? The answer to this question is: paradoxically. The coming of the kingdom is paradoxical. The kingdom does not come in the way and in the expression that many expected.

Now if the kingdom of God comes paradoxically, in a way unknown to the first century, then there may be a different way of understanding this garden scene. In this text, Jesus is not being bound because of defeat; he is being bound because of victory. Jesus’ arrest is his release. His arrest is not his binding, it may appear to be, but it is ultimately the binding of the evil one, the father of lies, Satan himself. This is why the gospel of Matthew tells us that Jesus is the One who bound the strong man. He is the One who arrested the Serpent and dragged him out of the garden. Jesus owns the garden, not Judas or His master, Satan.

This arrest and this binding of Jesus in the garden is not a plan gone awry, it is exactly what has been planned. In one sense, this arrest is the cosmic Trinitarian conspiracy against the kingdoms of this world. When evil leaders and governments think they have the Son of Man trapped, he fools them. As Psalm 2 says, “God laughs at their plans.” The conspiracy of the cross is that the cross is Christ’s sword to defeat evil. But the serpent does not know this. He is virtually blinded to the Messianic plan and nothing will stop Jesus from conquering evil and bringing in a new world, a new creation. The garden belongs to him, because the garden is where his people gather, and eat, and fellowship. The garden is the sacred space, the place of peace. Make no mistake, we are a warring people, but we war against the enemies of Messiah. In the garden, the King, Master, and Messiah says, “the gates of hell shall not prevail. Death dies once and for all and victory will come and we will celebrate it this Sunday. Today, though we fast, it is only a prelude to our coming feast. Jesus’ death marks the end of the serpent’s sting of death.

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