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By In Culture, Family and Children, Theology, Worship

Thomas Chalmers and the Recovery of the Parish

Chalmers 09 Sepia

By guest contributor, Dr. George Grant.

The great Scottish pastor, social reformer, educator, author, and scientist Thomas Chalmers was born on March 17, 1780 at Anstruther on the Fife coast. His father was a prosperous businessman in the town and Thomas grew up as the sixth in a large family of fourteen children—he had eight brothers and five sisters.

Showing early signs of prodigy, at the age of three, he went to the local parish school to learn the classical trivium of grammar, logic, and rhetoric in English, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. His parents were people of strong Calvinist conviction and keen that their family should grow up to bear witness to a lively and relevant Christianity. Piety and intellectual rigor marked their daily lives.

Before he was twelve, he had sufficiently mastered language, literary, and philosophical skills that he was recommended to advance his studies at the University of St Andrews. His brother, William, who was just thirteen, accompanied him. At the time, Thomas was the second-youngest student at St Andrews and widely recognized as a student with extraordinary promise. Although a great part of his time in the first two sessions at the university were apparently occupied in boyish amusements, such as golf, soccer, and hand-ball—in which he was remarkably expert, owing to his being left-handed—he had already begun to demonstrate the great intellectual power which was to be one of his chief characteristics throughout adult life. For mathematics he developed special enthusiasm and to its study he gave himself with great energy and dedication. Ethics and politics were also themes of special interest to him as he sought to integrate his life and faith with the evident woes of the world around him.

In 1795, now fifteen years-old, he sensed a call into the ministry—though as yet still quite immature in his faith—and so he was enrolled as a student of Divinity. That session, he actually studied very little theology because having recently taught himself sufficient French to use the language for study, he pursued his researches into theoretical mathematics with renewed vigor. Nevertheless, towards the end of the session he was deeply stirred by the power of the writings of Jonathan Edwards and came to an intellectual grasp of the magnificence of the Godhead and of the providential subordination of all things to His one sovereign purpose.

During these years another part of his great talent began to come into prominence. On entry to the University his expressive proficiency in English grammar and rhetoric was at best immature, but after two years of study, there was a perceptible change. The gifts of powerful, intense and sustained expression revealed themselves with freedom, spontaneity and beauty. Student Debating Societies, class discourses, and daily prayers in the University were all enriched by his tasteful, capable and eloquent participation.

By 1798, having just reached the age of eighteen, he had completed his course of studies at the University of St Andrews. The foundations were laid for his future development. As his biographer Hanna would later assert, “The intensity of his nature, the redundant energy that hardly knew fatigue, the largeness of his view, the warmth of his affection, the independence of his judgement, and the gushing impetuosity of his style, were already manifest from these college days.”

In July 1799, he was licensed to preach after a special dispensation exempted him from the qualifying condition of having reached the age of twenty-one. At the same time, he became a teaching assistant at the University of Edinburgh in the widely varied disciplines of Mathematics, Chemistry, Natural and Moral Philosophy and Political Economy.

During the winter of 1801, he was offered a post as Assistant in the Mathematics Department at St Andrews as well as the pastorate of the small parish church in Kilmany. And thus began his remarkable dual career as an ecclesiastic and an academic. Over the next forty-four years Thomas Chalmers gave himself to public service. Twenty of these years were spent in three parishes: first at Kilmany and then later at, the Tron Church and St John’s Church, both in Glasgow. The remaining twenty-four years were spent as a professor in three different chairs, Moral Philosophy in St Andrews, Professor of Divinity in Edinburgh, and Principal and Professor of Divinity in the Free Church Theological Institution, Edinburgh, later known as New College. Often, he served both church and university simultaneously, evoking the wonder of the entire world.

As a teacher, he aroused the enthusiasm of his students. One of them later commented, “Under his extraordinary management, the study of Mathematics was felt to be hardly less a play of the fancy than a labor of the intellect—the lessons of the day being continually interspersed with applications and illustrations of the most lively nature, so that he secured in a singular manner the confidence and attachment of his pupils.” Likewise, his parishioners found his sermons to be both erudite and winsome, aimed at both orthodoxy and orthopraxy. His reputation was soon spread throughout Scotland.

The years of work given to parish ministry were extremely significant in the life of Thomas Chalmers. The mental capacity that he had shown in academic pursuits and his youthful strength of spirit were now brought to the test of service to rural and urban communities at a time of extremely significant social change, and the ever transforming power of the Gospel was to prove itself in and through his life and service.

Family bereavements brought Chalmers to reflect more seriously about a dimension of life which, on his own confession, he had not fully considered. His brother, George, three years older, and his sister, Barbara, some five years older, both died within the space of two years. George had been the captain of a merchant ship, but succumbed to tuberculosis and returned home at the age of twenty-nine to die. He awaited the end calmly, his trust resting firmly in Christ. Each evening he had read to him one of John Newton’s sermons and obviously derived especial comfort therein. His quiet and assured faith challenged his younger brother. Barbara, likewise, suffering the same disease, showed great fortitude and confidence in the face of death. The nature of these circumstances brought him to question his previous conceptions.

After Barbara’s death, Thomas, who had been commissioned to write several articles for the Encyclopaedia Britannica on mathematical subjects, wrote to the editor and asked that the article on Christianity should also be allocated to him. Before finishing the article and just after he had made his maiden speech in the General Assembly of 1809, he himself fell gravely ill. Ill-health dogged him for months—at one point being so severe that his family despaired of his very life. The combination of his illness and the loss of his siblings signaled a profound change in his life. He wrote to a friend, “My confinement has fixed on my heart a very strong impression of the insignificance of time—an impression which I trust will not abandon me though I again reach the heyday of health and vigor. This should be the first step to another impression still more salutary—the magnitude of eternity. Strip human life of its connection with a higher scene of existence and it is the illusion of an instant, an unmeaning farce, a series of visions and projects, and convulsive efforts, which terminate in nothing. I have been reading Pascal’s Thoughts on Religion: you know his history—a man of the richest endowments, and whose youth was signalized by his profound and original speculations in mathematical science, but who could stop short in the brilliant career of discovery, who could resign all the splendors of literary reputation, who could renounce without a sigh all the distinctions which are conferred upon genius, and resolve to devote every talent and every hour to the defense and illustration of the Gospel. This, my dear sir, is superior to all Greek and Roman fame.”

Yet another influence on his spiritual development at this time was the reading of William Wilberforce’s Practical View of Christianity. Again, he wrote, “The deep views he gives of the depravity of our nature, of our need of an atonement, of the great doctrine of acceptance through that atonement, of the sanctifying influence of the Spirit—these all have given a new aspect to my faith.”

Chalmers now had his priorities set in order before him. He gladly recognized God’s claim to rule the affections of his heart and command his life’s obedience. The remainder of his ministry in Kilmany was profoundly affected by the experience of a vital Christian walk. His preaching had new life and concern, proclaiming what he had formerly disclaimed. His pastoral visitation and his instruction in the homes of his parish showed greater ardor than ever before. From outside the region many came to hear the Word, and heard it gladly. There were innumerable converts to this living Christianity.

Chalmers became an earnest student of the Scriptures and also set aside one day each month when, before God, he reviewed his service to Him and sought, with confession and thanksgiving, the blessing of God on his work and on the people entrusted to his pastoral care. These years were also those of the Napoleonic Wars and Chalmers joined the volunteers, holding commissions as a chaplain and lieutenant, though he was never deployed on the continent.

He completely abandoned himself to the covenantal community there at Kilmany. He married and had his first children there. He established a classical school at the heart of the parish. He set about a reform of the ministry to the poor, the widows, and the orphans. He established a pioneer missionary society and a Bible society. In addition, Chalmers began his prodigious and prolific publishing career.

It was inevitable that a man of such gifts would not long be underutilized in the small environs of the Fife seacoast. In July 1815, when news of the victory at Waterloo was scarcely a month old, he preached the last sermon of his twelve-year ministry in Kilmany. His final exhortation was: “Choose Him, then, my brethren. Choose Him as the Captain of your salvation. Let him enter into your hearts by faith, and let Him dwell continually there. Cultivate a daily intercourse and a growing acquaintance with Him. O you are in safe company, indeed, when your fellowship is with Him.”

Thomas Chalmers went to Glasgow at the invitation of the Magistrates and Town Council of Glasgow. He served first in the Tron Church until 1819, and then, by the election of the Town Council, he was transferred to the newly-created parish of St John’s, a poorer parish with a very high proportion of factory a workers, a parish in which he had the freedom to develop the ideas which he had long been maturing.

In the later years at Kilmany, Chalmers had made conscience of his work as a parish minister and had come to know the problems of working a rural parish. Now with his newly expanded duties in Glasgow, he came to grips with the difficulties of work in a city parish and applied his intelligence and strength to new problems.

From the beginning of his ministry in the city his preaching was fully appreciated, and many attended from throughout Glasgow, but Chalmers was concerned that his ministry should first and foremost be to the parish—where some eleven or twelve-thousand people lived and worked. He commenced a program of visitation from house to house which took two years to complete. He organized the eldership to co-operate in this task and developed Sabbath evening schools. Commencing with thirteen children, the schools grew until within two years they had twelve hundred children under instruction. His awareness of the situation of the people gave him an acute understanding of the problems of illiteracy and poverty in the parish and he could not rest until he had found some means of remedying these. His interest in the working-man furthered his reflections on the economic situation; his interest in the sciences led to the Astronomical Discourses, a series of Thursday afternoon sermons delivered once every two months during 1816. Many businessmen and others left their place of work to hear these and during 1817 nine editions of some 20,000 copies were published.

In 1816, the University of Glasgow unanimously conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. The Lord High Commissioner at the General Assembly in the same year invited him to preach in Edinburgh at the time of the Assembly. Hard work and new-found fame were joined in the experience of Chalmers, but he was dissatisfied.

He was convinced that the Christian church had as yet unfulfilled responsibilities to all those who lived and worked in the local parish, not merely to those who attended the local place of worship. In the development of Sabbath School work Chalmers discovered that many children had great difficulty in reading. He resolved to remedy the defect by setting up classical schools throughout the parish—especially for the poor and neglected. Provision for the needs of the poor was also made, not from the poor-rate levy, but from funds administered by the church of the parish through its deacons who were given special training for this work. Relatives of the needy were encouraged to assume responsibility and the government’s poor relief costs for the parish were reduced by more than eighty per cent within three years. And as if all this were not enough, by correspondence he maintained a ministry with many others beyond the bounds of Glasgow, writing on average some fifty letters a week—and they were for the most part, letters of great substance.

The years of his ministry in Glasgow were very significant. There was no class of persons untouched by his labors. Before his time many had fallen away from all Christian belief and observance, but under his ministry public sentiment turned decisively to evangelical liveliness. By his labors living faith in Christ was restored and many men and women throughout the city gave themselves for Christian service.

When he was invited to return to his former University, St Andrews, as Professor of Moral Philosophy, he accepted because he saw it as a position of wider usefulness and also because he felt that the pressure of life in Glasgow which had progressively increased was making excessive demands on him. But his concerns for the urban parishes remained undiminished. His interest for instance, in dealing with the problem of poverty led to an invitation to London by the Parliamentary Committee on the Irish Poor Law. In 1840 he gave a paper at the British Association for the Advancement of Science recommending the system of voluntary assistance to the poor. He was well informed on the major public issues of his day—Roman Catholic Emancipation, the Reform Bill and the Corn Laws and his opinion was valued by great and small alike on all of these problems. In 1832 the Bishop of London recommended the President of the Royal Society to invite Dr Chalmers to prepare a treatise in proof of the wisdom and benevolence of God shown in the works of creation. It was published in the following year with funds from the legacy of the Earl of Bridgewater and was known as the Bridgewater Treatise.

Amongst the honors that had come his way in the same year was his election as Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. He had previously formed part of a delegation on William IV’s accession in 1830 and had been named as one of His Majesty’s Chaplains in Scotland. He was later to present a loyal address on behalf of the University of Edinburgh to Queen Victoria on her accession in 1837. In January 1834, Dr Chalmers was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh and the following year became one of its Vice-Presidents. The Royal Institute of France honored him with the title of corresponding member and four years later, in 1838, he visited France and read a lecture on the “Distinction both in principle and effect between a legal charity for the relief of indigence and a legal charity for the relief of disease.” His many books and sermons were invariably best-sellers for years on end.

Thus, his reputation was well-established, his contribution to the life of Scotland, England and Ireland fully recognized, and his fame spread around the world when he found himself not only involved in, but leading, a movement that was to divide the Church of Scotland, and to set him in apparent disregard of the authority of the highest civil court in the land.

With the disappearance of the Roman Catholic Church in Scotland as a spiritual force in the sixteenth century, the Presbyterian Church had assumed the right to be the Church of Scotland. Its struggle for spiritual independence had been a long and costly one under the leadership of John Knox, Andrew Melville and Alexander Henderson amongst others. At long last, in 1690, the Presbyterian Church was legally recognized by the crown as the established Church of Scotland, but in this recognition by the state there was no question of the church surrendering any aspect of its independence. It was free to follow the guidance of the Divine Head in every aspect in which He had expressed His will.

Patronage, or the right of landowners to bring to a parish a minister who might or might not be acceptable to the elders and members of it, had been brought in by Act of Parliament in 1712. But in 1838, in two cases in particular, those of Auchterarder and Marnoch, ministers were forced on congregations opposed to their settlement and the Court of Session and the House of Lords ratified these decisions. Many in the church were seriously perturbed.

There were other areas of concern as well. It was decided that the Church did not have the power to organize new parishes nor give the ministers there the status of clergy of the Church. She had no authority to receive again clergy who had left it. And perhaps worst of all a creeping liberal formalism was slowly smothering the evangelical zeal of the whole land. Alas, despite repeated requests, the Government refused to take action to deal with the threat of spiritual atrophy. After a ten year long struggle to regain the soul of the church, the evangelical wing, led by Chalmers and others laid a protest on the table of the Assembly some four hundred ministers and a like number of elders left the established Church of Scotland on May 18, 1843, to form the Free Church.

When the General Assembly of the Free Church was constituted that grave morning, Thomas Chalmers was called to be its Moderator. He was the man whose reputation in the Christian world was the highest; he was also the man whose influence in directing the events leading to what would eventually be called the Disruption had been greatest.

The ministers who left the Established Church with Chalmers that day sacrificed much. In the personal sphere their houses and financial security were set aside, their work had to be reorganized and new centers for preaching found. Chalmers, in this respect, also suffered loss. He was no longer Professor of Divinity at the University of Edinburgh and the influence and prestige of that position went to another. But the Church realized that, without continued pastoral training, its future was bleak. A center for theological study, the Free Church Theological Institute, was opened and Chalmers was appointed Principal and Professor of Divinity.

A few years before, when Chalmers had completed his sixtieth year, he looked forward to a “sabbatical decennium,” a seventh decade of life that would be spent as “the Sabbath of our earthly pilgrimage—as if on the shore of the eternal world.” The years before 1843 had brought him little of the rest and peace that he hoped for and, of course, after the Disruption, he had even more to do.

His lectures continued, but there was also the concern of finding a site and constructing a building to house the New College. In 1846, after much personal sacrifice and intense labor, Chalmers laid the foundation-stone of the new building. “We leave to others the passions and politics of this world, and nothing will ever be taught, I trust, in any of our halls which shall have the remotest tendency to disturb the existing order of things, or to confound the ranks and distinctions which at present obtain in society. But there is one equality between man and man which will strenuously be taught—the essential equality of human souls; and that in the high count and reckoning of eternity, the soul of the poorest of nature’s children, the raggedest boy that runs along the pavement, is of like estimation in the eyes of heaven with that of the greatest and noblest of our land.”

The means for supporting the ministers of the church following the Disruption had to be found and Chalmers dedicated much of his time and energy to the setting up of a Sustentation Fund. By the end of 1844 it was clear that the cost of maintaining spiritual independence would involve foregoing any financial assistance given by the State. It was under his leadership that this problem was confronted and resolved. In addition, new sites for some 700 churches and manses had to be found for the congregations that were formed, and there were difficulties with several landowners in getting sites. In many cases Chalmers was able to give assistance through his personal influence. His own home in Morningside was used as a place of worship for years afterward.

All this effort was not dedicated simply to perpetuating an idea, for Chalmers had a vision of Scotland in which all her people from those of highest to those of lowest rank would know and love the Lord Jesus Christ. Perhaps the dearest example of the outworking of this vision is seen in the West Port experiment in Edinburgh, “a fourth part of the whole population being pauper and another fourth street beggars, thieves and prostitutes.” The population amounted to upwards of 400 families of whom 300 had no connection with the Church. Of 411 children of school age, 290 were growing up without any education. The plan of Chalmers was to divide the whole territory into twenty districts each containing about twenty families. To each district a discipler was appointed whose duty was to visit each family once a week. A school was provided. By the end of 1845, 250 scholars had attended the school. A library, a savings bank, a wash-house and an industrial school had been provided, and there was a congregation served by a missionary-minister. Chalmers often attended the services there and would take part as a worshipper alongside the people of the district.

Thomas Carlyle said of him “What a wonderful old man Chalmers is. Or rather, he has all the buoyancy of youth. When so many of us are wringing our hands in hopeless despair over the vileness and wretchedness of the large towns, there goes the old man, shovel in hand, down into the dirtiest puddles of the West Port of Edinburgh, cleans them out, and fills the sewers with living waters. It is a beautiful sight.”

At the end of the College Session in 1847 Chalmers, by now exhausted in his ceaseless labors, went to London on the business of the Church. He returned to his home in Morningside to prepare for the General Assembly on the following Monday. It was after family worship on Sunday evening May 30 that he said goodnight. He went to sleep in Morningside, but he awoke in Heaven.

The funeral was held on the following Friday, June 4. The Magistrates and Town Council, the members of Assembly, the Professors of New College, ministers, probationers, students, the Rector and Masters of the High School and many thousands more joined the funeral procession, paying their tribute, as they followed the cortege to Grange Cemetery. According to Carlyle, “There was a moral sublimity in the spectacle. It spoke more emphatically than by words of the dignity of intrinsic excellence, and of the height to which a true man may attain. It was the dust of a Presbyterian minister which the coffin contained, and yet they were burying him amid the tears of a nation, and with more than kingly honors.”

 

George Grant is the author of more than five dozen books, serves as pastor of Parish Presbyterian Church, and is the founder of King’s Meadow Study Center, the Chalmers Fund, New College Franklin, the Comenius School, and Franklin Classical School. This post originally appeared on his blog, Grantian Florilegium.

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By In Culture, Theology

Preach Good Works

The struggle between good works and justification by faith alone has roots that go deep into the history of the Church. One of the key debates in the Protestant Reformation was works and the role they play in the salvation of a man. In modern times, the lordship salvation debate between John MacArthur and some others in the 1990’s was really a debate about the nature and necessity of works in the Christian life. Numerous Scriptures were used throughout the debates both in the Reformation and in the modern quarrels. James 2:14-24 was beaten to death during the lordship salvation debates. Christ calling His people to obedience throughout the Gospels was also scrutinized by scholarly eyes. Paul’s letters to Rome, Corinth and Galatia were used on both sides of the argument.

One of Paul’s lesser known letters gives us some perspective on the issue of good works in the life of the Christian. In particular, I want to briefly address the reformed tendency to avoid any mention of good works from the pulpit for fear of being misunderstood.

Titus was written by St. Paul late in his life, probably between 62-64 A.D. The recipient, a Gentile Christian probably converted by Paul, was left in Crete to finish the work Paul had started there. It is not the most famous New Testament book. It is short and probably preferred by ministers for its pastoral content. You will rarely find it listed in someone’s “favorite books of the Bible” section. Despite its relative obscurity, it has numerous practical exhortations that are worth looking at.

In a recent reading of Titus I found the issue of good works being brought to my attention. Paul’s advice to Titus is particularly important because Titus was a pastor. What was Paul’s exhortation to this pastor on the island of Crete? Did he tell Titus to be very careful about mentioning good works? Did he imply that pressing good works upon the flock will make them legalists, who are earning their way to heaven? Did he only mention works in the context of our free salvation? Let’s see what was Paul’s admonition to this pastor.

There are seven uses of the Greek word, ergon, in Titus. Normally ergon is translated as work or deed. Here are the seven uses. I am using the New King James Version text.

1:16 They profess to know God, but in works they deny Him, being abominable, disobedient, and disqualified for every good work.

2:6-7 Likewise, exhort the young men to be sober-minded, (7) in all things showing yourself to be a pattern of good works; in doctrine showing integrity, reverence, incorruptibility,

2:14 who gave Himself for us, that He might redeem us from every lawless deed and purify for Himself His own special people, zealous for good works.

3:4-5 But when the kindness and the love of God our Savior toward man appeared, (5) not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us, through the washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Spirit,

3:8 This is a faithful saying, and these things I want you to affirm constantly, that those who have believed in God should be careful to maintain good works. These things are good and profitable to men.

3:14 And let our people also learn to maintain good works, to meet urgent needs, that they may not be unfruitful.

The verses that are most familiar to me, and probably to you as well, are the magnificent encapsulation of the Gospel found in Titus 3:4-5. These verses show that works are not the basis for our salvation. It is only because God is merciful and kind that we are redeemed. Works are left out of this equation entirely. Most Protestants are comfortable with these verses.

It is the remaining verses that make us uneasy. Paul is vocal, almost pushy, in exhorting Titus to preach good works to his people. Look at the language Paul uses, “a pattern of good works…zealous for good works…maintain good works…maintain good works.” Note especially 3:8. Paul wants Titus to constantly affirm (or ESV insist on these things)  that those who believe in God should maintain (ESV devote themselves to) good works. For Paul good works are not a sign of legalism. Good works are the necessary fruit of a Christian life. They are absolutely essential. Pastors everywhere are to exhort their people to good works. I know of many pastors, especially reformed ones, who are afraid to use this type of language. They fear that they will be misunderstood. They fear that they will be accused of being legalistic or preaching works righteousness instead of justification by faith alone. But if we are going to preach Titus 3:4-5 we must also preach Titus 3:8 and 14. Paul did not shrink back from telling his people and his pastors to make good works a priority. A man who wants a ministry like Paul’s must not shrink back from that duty either.

Legalism in our preaching must be avoided. However, an issue of equal importance, if not greater, in the modern evangelical church is the failure to be holy, the failure to be zealous for good works. An effective minister will know which way the cultural wind is blowing and fight against it. In our age the danger is not just those who create new laws, like the Pharisees, but also those who reject obedience to God’s Word.  A faithful minister will cut down this folly by preaching good works, exactly like Paul told Titus to.

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By In Theology

Rahab’s Red Cord

Scholars have long debated the significance of the red cord that Rahab hung in her window to identify her house during the impending conquest of Jericho (Joshua 2:18). This is such a well-known detail that it provides an interesting test case for assessing the validity of different interpretive expectations. Put simply, how much should we read into the tiny details of the biblical text? Is the redness of Rahab’s cord significant in any way? Or is it one of those details about which preachers wax lyrical while the Holy Spirit shakes his (metaphorical, analogical) head in disbelief.

At one end of the interpretive spectrum, some have denied that this detail has any significance at all. It was merely a convenient way of identifying the where this lady of the night happened to live, they insist. Nothing more to it than that, they say – the redness of the rag, its location in the window, and so on, are all just irrelevant details. And it certainly has nothing to do with the blood of Christ. That’s just fanciful eisegesis.

Well, we can perhaps sympathise with the too-hasty leap from “red cord” to “red blood cells”, but perhaps a little more consideration is in order before we dismiss the thought out of hand. After all, can’t we think of any other occasion in the Bible when something red was placed over the entrance (or exit, Joshua 2:15) of a house immediately before the LORD passed through in judgment in order to ensure the safe deliverance of both the owner of the house and the rest of his (or her) household? When that judgment was occasioned by the LORD leading his people miraculously through a body of water? How many parallels to the exodus from Egypt do we need to see? (There are plenty, if you’re interested.) C’mon, willya? Hermeneutical minimalism gets an F-grade here. There are no “irrelevant details” in the Bible.

But granted that the shoulder-shrugging “it means nothing” is out of bounds, what does it mean? Early Christian interpreters recognised the obvious parallel with the blood of the Passover lamb daubed on the doorframes of the Israelite houses in Exodus 12. It was for this reason – and not simply because if the cord’s redness – that they drew a connection to the (red) blood of Christ, “our Passover lamb” (1 Cor 5:7). But perhaps there’s even more to it than this.

The most obvious contemporary association might be termed the “red light district” reading. On this view, the redness of the cord has an obvious (and ironic, given Rahab’s apparent repentance) connection with the lady’s (former) profession. But this is no mere fanciful contemporary re-appropriation dictated by the protocols of 21st-century Soho; the sexual overtones of “redness” were as obvious to Bronze Age Canaanite culture as they are to us. Indeed, the connections were obvious to Solomon: “your lips are like a scarlet thread,” he declared (Song of Solomon 4:3).

But there are more subtle resonances still. As Daniel Hawk points out in his outstanding book Every Promise Fulfilled (Westminster / John Knox, 1991), “the scarlet cord (tiqwat hashshani, v. 21) is actually a pun in code. The cord (tiqwat) is a sign of Rahab’s waiting or hope (tiqwat). And it is scarlet (shani) because it is a signal to the two (shney) men who have made the oath” (p. 70).

It turns out that the details matter after all.

Guest post by Rev Dr Steve Jeffery, Minister at Emmanuel Evangelical Church, London, England (BlogFacebookTwitter)

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By In Theology

Jesus and the Sea: A Narratological Understanding of Evil and its Evaporation

Guest Post by John Howell

In ancient literature, the sea is at times an image used to depict chaos and evil. The ancients, in common with their predecessors, had a hard time justifying and understanding the dark that seemed to exist inappropriately in their world. The Sea was a powerful and mysterious thing, completely out of human control. The great armies of the most powerful rulers on earth were powerless and themselves at the mercy of the sea. It was thought that monsters lived there and great storms could come out of nowhere, seemingly under the command of the gods, and swallow the largest and best equipped of ships, or entire fleets.  Every great people tells of their difficulties with the sea. From the mighty Egyptians of ancient times to our own Gulf Coast in recent years, it is known that the sea is powerful to destroy any who are too close or too comfortable. It is vast and even with modern technology and incredible amount of focus on it, the sea is still as much a mystery and out of human control as it was tens of thousands of years ago. Mankind is no match for the sea.

The Christian story is one full of this imagery. In the opening scene of Genesis there is nothing but the sea and the Spirit of God “moving over the waters” (Genesis 1:2). God’s power is displayed when he, with just a word, places the mighty sea within its boundaries therefore creating land. This is a reoccurring praise of God’s power and authority in Scripture as seen in Job 38:10, Proverbs 8:29 and Psalm 104:9. God is Lord of the sea. He alone has established its limits and he alone has authority over it.

The Exodus narrative acknowledges this with powerful and dramatic displays. The first plague in Egypt is one such example, Exodus 7. The mighty and life-giving Nile was the domain of Hapi, a favored god of the Egyptians. He was responsible for the waters flowing and bring the soil enriching silt every year. The annual flooding was known as the “arrival of Hapi”. He was, at a time in Egypt’s history known as the creator of all things. The Nile was turned to blood by the God of Israel as a direct overthrowing of Hapi from his place of authority. Even the god of the Nile, the loved and worshiped, Hapi, was not able to control the sea. This plague demonstrates that Yahweh alone is Lord. Indeed all the plagues of Exodus were direct challenges to and victories over the major deities of Egyptian culture.

The Red Sea would be a dead-end, resulting in death and misery, for any who found themselves between it and a vengeful and pursuing Egyptian army. The Israelites themselves saw their own death sentence as they stood before the waves of the sea, “they became very frightened” (Exodus 14:10), and they cried out to Moses, “Is it because there were no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness?” God was victorious over Hapi, he had demonstrated his authority over the Nile. What now of this enormous sea that expanded out before them? We know the story and indeed it is repeated and re-imagined all throughout the rest of Scripture. God has Moses raise his staff and the waters part before the people allowing them to cross unharmed. The Egyptians do not have the same experience, they are swallowed up by the deep as God brings the waters down upon them. It was believed by the Egyptians that Pharaoh was a god, yet he was not able to safely pass through, nor deliver his mighty army. He was no match for the sea, vs. 28.

There is a story about Jesus and the sea. His disciples are fishing and a storm breaks out over them suddenly. The storm was causing water to fill the boat and fear grips the disciples. They seem to be angry with Jesus who is sleeping, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” (Matthew 4:38) Jesus tells the storm to ““Hush, be still”. And the wind died down and it became perfectly calm.”, vs. 39. The disciples were afraid of the storm, and who could blame them? What is interesting is that they were more afraid once all was calm. For it is then they realized that they had with them in their boat one who could command and control the sea, “Who is this?”. But the story of Jesus and the sea does not end there.

Elsewhere in the New Testament the mission of Jesus is described as an Exodus.  Paul teaches this idea in Ephesian, Romans, I Corinthians, Titus, his letters to Timothy and even in Philemon. The author of Hebrews as well conveys that Jesus is a better Moses, Hebrews 3. Jesus delivers all Peoples, not just those of Israel. The Gentiles were in need of exodus from the bondage of their idolatry, and the Jews were in need of liberation from their worship of the Law as that which could make them God’s possession. Paul argues this in his letter to the Romans, chapter 3. Jesus would do more than deliver from political oppression and slavery, he would make all the nations free from sin and death. If death itself were to be defeated, then so also would all the lesser evil powers of the world. If he were to defeat death, then what would follow would be the obedience of the nations, Romans 1:1-5.

Jesus himself would enter the sea. He played this out with his own baptism and his time in the wilderness. As Israel went through the sea and then spent forty years wandering, so Jesus went through the waters of his baptism and into temptation, Matthew 3. It is on the cross that Jesus faced the great sea, evil itself. All of its fury and terror, injustice, betrayal, misery and death would come against Jesus as a great wave, smashing and breaking him. It did not hold back, it did its worse. The broken and bloody body of a would be King, washed lifeless upon the shore as so many before him. It seemed as though the sea would always be a scourge to humanity and a chaos to insult and denounce God’s authority and justice.

In his Gospel, John tells the story of Jesus and his ministry in a series of sections. These sections are to be seen as “days” of a week to make a point that Jesus is the means through which a new creation is coming. God’s new age of salvation has finally appeared. According to John, Jesus is laid in the tomb, he rest on the Sabbath. The week is over, ending in the tragic death of the one who would be both a new Adam and the Creator of a new world. John 20 is one of the most exciting texts in all of literature, for here John reveals that though one week has ended, a new one has begun. On the “first day of the week”, vs.1, it is discovered that the body of Jesus is not in the tomb. When the disciples are told this they run to the empty grave site to be met by an Angel who tells them that Jesus has risen. Jesus later on appears before them. Every one of the Gospels tell of Jesus eating and feeding, teaching and praying, appearing to a few on the road or even to a group of over 500 at once, I Corinthians 15:6. The phrase in John 20, “the first day of the week”, is to point us forward. The new world has come. Each of the Gospel writers invites regardless of where (or when) one may be, to join them in the new age, a world that has come as a result of the apocalyptic event(s) known as the ministry, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus. Jesus has come and since he has risen nothing has ever been the same. The world, as it was known before him, has ended.

This brings us back to the sea. In John’s Revelation he tells of a new heavens and a new earth. The prophet Isaiah also tells of this (Isaiah 65:17). Like Isaiah, John’s vision of the new world is of a world very different from the old. Isaiah says that there will be no more weeping or infant death. There will be long life for most people. A world of justice and plenty, without calamity or famine. All will be as God originally intended for his world. In accord with Isaiah, John simply says,

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth passed away, and there is no longer any sea.” Revelation 21:1

No longer any sea. Other translations say, “the sea was no more”. When one observes how the image of the sea is used in the biblical narrative, what John is saying here is extraordinary. It has been demonstrated that in John 20 Jesus is the one through whom a new creation week has begun and that week has not ended. He is currently active in his mission, which is directly stated in Revelation 21:5, “Behold, I am making all things new”! The New heavens and New earth are being created now as Jesus is reigning from the throne of God. This new creation will be a place where, upon its completion, there will be no sea, evil will be evaporated from God’s good creation once and for all. The sea with all its chaos, terror and monsters, the sea that drowned the Son, has itself been swallowed up in his victorious resurrection. It is being evaporated from the earth through the activity of Jesus as King.

The sea is no more. What does this mean for his Spirit filled people? They too have come through the waters of baptism and now find themselves in the wilderness of a broken world. The Gospel is about the justice and power of God through the reign of Christ over the nations (Romans 1:5, 16&17). How does the power and the justice of God, revealed within the Gospel, go forth and do its work? It works through his obedient people. The Church has been given the very presence of God. The Shekinah that led the former slaves of Egypt through their wilderness now inhabits the Israel of God as they are sent into theirs (see John 17:22). Since the victory of Jesus, evil and death have no authority here. Fear and lack of faith must be cast away, since the saints are set apart as ones sent to complete the work of the King. An evaporating and diminishing sea seems to convey that Christ is working through his people to subject all authorities and powers, both earthly and spiritual, to himself (see I Corinthians 15:24-28). When the sea rages and floods communities and even a society, the faithful are called and equipped to stem the tide. They are the ones who are called to stand between an oppressive authority and defenseless people. They are the ones who are called to feed the hungry and poor, clothing them with all they have. They are the ones who must stand and demonstrate the liberty and beauty of God’s Law as the standard for all human societies for the civil government, Church, family and the individual. There exists a power and a liberation in the truth of the Gospel of King Jesus, the good news that his Kingdom has come. It is a Kingdom that is everlasting and will never be defeated (Daniel 7:14). In his Kingdom the sea is no more.

John Howell lives in Clearwater Florida with his beautiful wife Jillian and their three year old son Elijah William. He is a member of Grace Church of Dunedin, where he serves as a Deacon, Director of Connections and most recently, Pastoral Assistant. John has a passion to preach and demonstrate the Gospel: the good news of the Kingdom come in Jesus Christ. Article originally appeared here.

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By In Theology

Happiness Begins With Knowing That Your Sins are Great

The 2nd question in the  Heidelberg Catechism is this:

Q: 2. How many things are necessary for you to know, that you, enjoying this comfort, may live and die happily?

What a great question! What do I need to know that I might live and die happily?  Isn’t this what everyone wants? What man, woman, or child does not want to live a happy life? Who doesn’t want to die happy? But what is the answer? How much do I need to know that my life might be a happy one? Do I need to know how to get rich? Do I need to know how to be a good person? Do I need to know how to get married? Do I need to know the joys of freedom from law? What do I need to know to live and die happily? Here is the answer given by the Heidelberg:

A: Three; the first, how great my sins and miseries are;  the second, how I may be delivered from all my sins and miseries;  the third, how I shall express my gratitude to God for such deliverance. 

Not what you expected? We don’t usually put the fact that our sins are great as the first thing that will help us live and die happily. In fact, sin is usually considered the beginning of all our problems. But here is where happiness begins. Your best life now begins with the fact that your sins are so great that if they were drops of water the oceans would be too small to hold them. The life of joy and happiness begins with your heart being black and your hands being covered in blood. 

Why does happiness begin at such an odd place?

First, the fact that we are great sinners is reality. Human beings, even Christians, often think we are not really that bad. We justify our sins. We minimize our sins. We pretend we don’t sin. We blame our sins on other people. We cover up our sins. We do anything we can to make sure our sins don’t look too black.  But reality is always defined by God’s Word, not by us. Psalm 130:3 states that our sins are great. Romans says the same thing. It is assumed from Genesis 3 on that our sins are so great that we cannot save ourselves. Understanding that we are great sinners helps us see the world (and ourselves) the way it is and not the way we want it to be.

Second, only when we know our sins are great will we understand Jesus and His substitutionary work on the cross for us. When we minimize sin we minimize the cross and Jesus. When we minimize Jesus happiness, joy, comfort, delight, and peace are lost.  Without sin there is no need for Christ. Without Christ all good things disappear. Until our sins are seen for what they are we cannot see Jesus rightly. And only by seeing Jesus rightly can we have pleasures forevermore.

 As odd as it sounds, happiness begins with seeing yourself as a great sinner.

Are you a happy person? Do you enjoy life? Do you enjoy the comfort of the great salvation given to us in Jesus Christ? Would your spouse, your children, your co-workers, your neighbors describe you as a joyful person? If you died tomorrow would you “die happily?” If the answer is no, then perhaps you think too much of yourself. Perhaps you do not realize how great your sins are. Perhaps you spend a lot of time hiding your sins, pretending they are “mistakes” or “flaws.” Perhaps you are more concerned about how you look to others than about the reality of who you are. Step into the light. Your sins are great. That is a fact. But Jesus is greater. And only in a great Jesus can true happiness be found.

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By In Culture, Interviews, Theology

Church Unity and Mission: An Interview with Samuel T. Logan Jr.

 

 

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Made up of 67 denominations, the World Reformed Fellowship was founded to “encourage understanding and cooperation among evangelical Presbyterian and Reformed denominations and institutions, and to link those institutions having ministry resources with those possessing vision but few resources. The fellowship promotes Reformed thinking, a Reformed world and life view, fosters evangelism and strategies on missions, church planting and theological education, and promotes international communication for the further advancement of the Gospel.” (more…)

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By In Culture, Theology, Wisdom

Angel, Absurdism, and Faith (not the girl)

Angel absurdism (i.e. pushing absurdism on the TV show) relies on you missing the real absurdity.

Atheism tries to make sense by pretending that not making sense is a special virtue. You can see it especially clearly in the brief exchange below in which Joss Whedon mentions the story in Season 2, episode 16 of the TV show Angel, “Epiphany“:

YouTube – Joss Whedon: Atheist & Absurdist.

I used to love Whedon, who has now moved on to the Marvel Avenger franchise. His browncoat-betraying anti-Romney propaganda, in which he pretended all sorts of central-planet death myths like overpopulation were true, pretty much ended my positive feeling toward him. I confess I harbor a fantasy that he was offered the work with the Marvel movies by a mysterious figure who made him sign in blood.

angel kate

But I still think the exchange above is profitable to think about.

I have extreme skepticism about what Whedon claims he has suffered for his atheism. I also hate the hearing the word “faith” used for an opinion on God’s existence. Whether or not God is trustworthy is a matter of faith. Whether or not he exists has nothing to do with faith (and Hebrews doesn’t say otherwise).

But I’m posting this because I remember actually liking Angel’s slogan: “If what we do doesn’t matter; then all that matters is what we do.” And I feel really stupid for not seeing the irrationality of it immediately. Sometimes I think paradoxes give off the glint of hidden wisdom when they are just plain nonsense.

Angel’s conclusion at the end of Season 2 (or near the end) was that (to repeat) “If what we do doesn’t matter then all that matters is what we do.”

If what we do doesn’t matter, then anything might matter except what we do. You can’t draw the contradiction of a premise from that premise as if it followed as a conclusion from it.

Now that I’ve gotten that issue out of the way (in my own mind, at least), let me say why I think Whedon’s view appeals to people, especially to Christians.

Being able to evaluate and value one’s decisions and commitments without having knowledge of the eternal plan for them is a requirement for the human condition. It is set forth most starkly in the Bible in the book called Ecclesiastes.

So, I think the appeal is precisely because Whedon’s view is a close replica of the truth.

But I don’t think it works if there is no plan at all. (And claiming there is no plan seems to actually assert endless knowledge rather than humbly deny it. But that argument would be endless, so I’ll let it go.) It is one thing to make decisions and do your best without understanding why your circumstances exist or how you fit into a larger picture. But it is another to say that there is no picture.

To really act as Angel does actually requires faith. And that, in my opinion, is why Whedon had to include a miracle in his story. Viewers would have felt like there was no point without it.<>создание тур а

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By In Culture, Theology, Wisdom

How to be an Intellectually Faithful Freshman

class room

This week and next, colleges across the country will commence their Spring semester. Many students who grew up in Christian homes will consciously trade in their faith for a philosophical system antithetical to the one of their upbringing. Even more students, however, while not outright denying their Christian faith, will unconsciously adopt a philosophical system that is inherently idolatrous. It’s not that this second group wants to be idolaters; they simply lack the tools to discern the nature of the bill of goods their professor is selling them. So, how can one know if a given philosophical system (Kantianism, Marxism, Platonism, etc.) is idolatrous? One can begin by asking two questions. First, “is this logical?” Second, “is this sinful?” If the answer is “yes” to the first question, the answer will be “no” to the second question. If the answer is “no” to the first question, the answer will be “yes” to the second question. Here’s a story to illustrate the point:

On her twenty first birthday, Cindy was promised a night on the town with her girlfriends. After dinner, her friends came to her house in a limo, blindfolded her, and took her to Crazy Dave’s Casino (obviously, she had some pretty lame friends…). As they were getting into the limo, they shoved some bills in her purse and said “tonight’s on us!” Once inside, Cindy took off her blindfold. Because there was no signage on the inside of the building, Cindy still wasn’t sure where she was. Eventually, she saw a waitress and asked if she could get something to drink. As she pulled out her wallet to pay, she saw four hundred Crazy Dave’s Casino-Bucks in her purse.

Now, there are only two ways that Cindy could have deduced her location. First, she could have spotted a logo. While it’s true the big Crazy Dave’s sign was outside, there were actually logo’s on the slot machines, napkins, etc. Secondly, of course, she could’ve known by looking at the Crazy Dave’s Casino-Bucks. Her currency could’ve revealed to her the location. Likewise, her location could have told her what sort of currency her friends slipped into her purse. For Cindy to answer the question “am I at Casino Dave’s?” she’d have to look at her currency. For her to answer the question “what sort of currency do I have in my purse?” she’d have to look at the signage.

Back to our original question: how can one know if a given philosophical system is idolatrous? There are at least two ways: Firstly, you can look for signage. Here, you’re trying to determine if the system outrightly advertises itself as sinful. Put simply, this means asking a couple questions of the philosophical system. One question is, “does it enable me to do something God forbids?” Nihilism, for instance, enables one to tear down systems for “tearing’s” sake. Well, some systems need to be torn down, but we’re commanded to obey God’s rule. Any tearing, then, must not be for its own sake, but because we’re seeking a system patterned after the rule of God. Thus, we know Nihilism is idolatrous because it enables us to do something God forbids.  Another question to ask is, “does the system forbid me from doing something God commands?”  Animism, for instance, is idolatrous because it teaches that everything on the earth, indeed the earth itself, has a soul. Thus, I’m forbidden from, among other things, giving thanks to God. If “Mother Nature” is giving me food, my thanksgiving is directed to the object I’m eating rather than the One who gave me the object to eat. Like Cindy, you’re in a building (the Casino of Idolatry, if you will), and you’re looking for clues as to the nature of the structure.

Secondly, you can look at the currency in which the philosophical system deals. This is crucial because not all philosophical systems are easily detected as “sinful.” Like Cindy in the casino, there isn’t a big Crazy Dave’s sign, and the logos are quite small and inconspicuous. Thus, it won’t do to simply ask “am I in the Casino of Idolatry?” Rather, you’ll have to ask “am I using the currency of the Casino of Idolatry?” Well, what is the currency of idolatry? In a word, it’s illogicality. If the system is illogical, it is idolatrous. Idolatry is always making a deal in which you trade life for death; the family blessing for some soup. An idolatrous philosophical system never uses the currency of “logic.” Thus, one can ask the question, “Are the propositions which this philosophy proposes logical?” If the answer is “no!” then you can know the system is itself idolatrous.[1]

With a little deductive reasoning, one can find idolatry in any illogical statement. Likewise, one can find incoherence in any given expression of idolatry. In his long career, Vern Poythress has become an exemplar for how to do such deductive reasoning. In the quote below, Poythress does a wonderful job showing the inherent idolatry and incoherence of Kantian philosophy. While his remarks are limited to Kantianism, his deductive method can be applied to any philosophical system. Specifically, notice two things. First, he shows how Kantianism is illogical; it’s self-defeating. Its currency can only be spent “in-house,” as it were. In this way, Poythress is saying “look at your currency, it’ll tell you that you’re in the Casino of Idolatry.” Secondly, Poythress draws attention to the sinful signage of Kantianism. The system enables you to claim complete autonomy; rejecting any Creator-creature distinction. In this way, Poythress is saying “look at the sign, it’ll tell you that your currency can’t be logical!” Poythress is modeling for us the ways in which we can both analyze a given philosophical system, and consciously embrace our biblical faith. Says Poythress:

“…Kantian philosophy discusses everything under the sun, including God, including morality, including the nominal realm, and proceeds to tell us what we can and cannot expect to know about the noumenal realm, and why. An impressive scope, would you not say? A scope far larger than the scope that Kantian philosophy assigns as the limits of reason. Kantianism uses reason to build a system that sets the limits of reason. To do so, it has to survey the field. It has to transcend the phenomenal and look at the noumenal realm as well. It has to take a God’s-eye view. This view, once achieved, afterwards allows it to tell you and me the narrower limits in which our reason can safely operate.

The God’s-eye view is Kantianism’s secret, and simultaneously its weakest point. Kantianism is self-destructive. In its results, it tells us what are the limitations of reason. If we take those results seriously, we have to apply them to Kantianism’s own reasonings about philosophy. Those reasonings go beyond the limits, and so we conclude that they are not sound. And so the whole philosophy is unsound. And so the limits have not been established. And so we are back to the beginning. We have gotten nowhere. Except now we know not to follow Kantianism.

In addition, Kantian philosophy testifies unwittingly to the reality of human ability to transcend the immediate. We can stand back from the immediacy of experience and survey what we have been doing. And then we can stand back from that and survey the meaning of our more abstract mediations. We have the capacity… for a miniature transcendence, because our minds imitate the mind of God. We can imagine what it would be like to look at everything from God’s point of view.

But Kantian philosophy engages in this whole process of transcendence autonomously. By its act of attempting transcendence, it testifies to God who made the human mind. By its autonomy, it defies God’s instruction in Scripture and refuses to give him thanks (Rom. 1:21). Not only that, but in effect it tries to be God. Having achieved what it hopes is a godlike transcendence, it can then dictate as a god what limits we poor mortals must have for our reasoning.

In a sense, the Kantian philosophers are the godlike beings, because they can dictate to poor mortals the limits of their experience and their reason. But in another sense Kantianism allows all human beings to be godlike. Each of us becomes in his own person a kind of godlike creator of the world. We ‘create’ the whole world of phenomena, including all the structures of time and space and causality and logic and reason, by imposing structure through our mental categories. We become gods. Can you see how such a conception has a covert religious appeal for people—really all of us in our sinfulness—who desire autonomy?”[2]



[1] One may ask, “but if a system is illogical, why would anyone believe it?” After all, the professors don’t seem to be play-acting; they really believe in Marxism, etc. The short answer is that they grew up in the Casino of Idolatry. They’ve never been outside, to the real world, and thus they dismiss a dollar bill as “fake,” but hold on to the Casino-Bucks for dear life! Their logic, in other words, is self-referential. It only works in their personal Casino of Idolatry. To know what logic *is* one must venture outside of the casino, to the great (real!) world God has designed.  

[2] Poythress, Vern S. Logic: A God-Centered Approach to the Foundation of Western Thought. Wheaton, Ill: Crossway, 2013; 637-638

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By In Theology

Mary – God’s Glory and the Female Body

Annunciazione, Matthias Stom

Annunciazione, Matthias Stom

God could have given Jesus a body in any way that He chose. It is important to consider this, and to believe that the way He chose for Jesus to come into the world as a human man has great significance for us as women. Mary has been referred to as the ark of the new covenant; her womb becomes the holy place where God chooses to dwell and to come near to His people. God honors the female body by creating in it a place for glory to dwell. When he first created woman, He had this plan in mind.

As I was considering Mary’s role in the incarnation of Jesus as is seen in Luke 1, I kept thinking of Jesus saying, “I go to prepare a place for you…” in assuring and comforting His followers that there was a special place, a beautiful home especially prepared for them. It is beautiful to consider that when God prepared a place for Jesus – a special place, a beautiful home, a secret, glorious, mysterious dwelling place – He lovingly chose the female body to be that place. In our culture, for years and years, there has been shame upon shame heaped on the female body, but this is not from God.

God, from the very beginning, honored our bodies by creating them female, able to conceive and carry and bring forth life. Each one of us walks around with a hidden picture of the ark of the covenant – by God’s design. We are walking pictures of the hidden glory of God. Treasure your body, treasure your femininity, your sexuality that God has given with great purpose to bring pleasure to Himself and to reveal Himself to the world. Whether or not we have ever had a child, ever been married, our physical bodies are glorious pictures of the holiness of God.

Regarding Mary specifically, it is wonderful to look at her response to the role that God announces to her in bringing about the incarnation of Jesus. I have always loved Mary’s words, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” I have always thought that this statement should be interpreted as a humble, sweet resignation to the hard, scary, and yet wonderful, honorable thing that God was telling her she had been chosen to do. And, I imagine, that is true. However, having been reflecting on these words more and more, I’m starting to wonder if Mary was saying, “Amen! Yes, I receive it. May it be unto me to be the ‘favored one,’ may it be true that the ‘Lord is with [me]’; let it be true that I ‘have found favor with God.’”

I think the ability to receive the blessing of the Lord takes at least as much humility as receiving hardship or suffering from His hand. May we, like Mary, have the humility to know we are not worthy of His blessing but to acknowledge that we want it and that He has the right to bestow it on us even in our unworthiness because that is what HE wants, what HE chooses. Saying, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” means having the humility to allow God to do great things in our lives that we DO NOT DESERVE as well as having the humility to allow God to do hard things in our lives.

Two questions
Are there areas in your life that you feel God has promised to bless you that you have been unwilling to receive because you feel you are not worthy (“How will this be?” Or “How can this be?”) Remember, as the angel said to Mary, “…nothing will be impossible with God.”

Would considering your femaleness as a picture of the dwelling place of God bring healing to you in any way?

A suggested application
Please consider spending time praying the words of Mary in The Magnificat during this Christmas season, asking God to allow your soul to magnify Him and to bring to mind specific ways in which He has done the following for you:
• Looked on the humble estate of his servant
• Allowing generations to call you blessed
• How he who is mighty has done great things for you
• Shown you how his name is holy
• Shown you and your generations mercy
• Shown strength with his arm
• Scattered the proud thoughts of your heart
• Brought down the mighty from their thrones
• Exalted those of humble estate
• Filled the hungry with good things
• Helped you in remembrance of his mercy
• Any other phrases of the Magnificat that jump out at you as words to speak back to God, rejoicing in God your Savior!<>mobi onlineинструменты интернет продвижения

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By In Pro-Life, Theology

The virgin birth proves personhood at conception

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, when Christians all over the world will gather to celebrate the nativity of Jesus Christ our Lord. The eternal Word becoming flesh is fundamental to the Christian faith; we would not be able to receive salvation apart from it (Gal. 4:4-5). One important aspect of Christ’s incarnation is his birth from Mary, a virgin. We re-tell this historic event each year, though many of us neglect its significance. Why did Jesus have to be born of a virgin? There is more than one answer to this question, but today we’ll look at one that has profound implications in the debate on abortion and the personhood of the unborn.

Jesus had to be born of a virgin because he is not a human person. Kallistos Ware summarizes the traditional doctrine:

“…Christ’s birth from a virgin underlines that the incarnation did not involve the coming into being of a new person. When a child is born from two human parents in the usual fashion, a new person begins to exist. But the person of the incarnate Christ is none other than the second person of the Holy Trinity. At Christ’s birth, therefore, no new person came into existence, but the pre-existent person of the Son of God now began to live according to a human as well as a divine mode of being. So the virgin birth reflects Christ’s eternal pre-existence.” – The Orthodox Way, pg. 76-77

(more…)

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