“What Can Miserable Christians Sing?”

by Carl Trueman,
from The Wages of Spin (pp. 159-160).

Now, one would not expect the world to have much time for the weakness of the psalmists’ cries. It is very disturbing, however, when these cries of lamentation disappear from the language and worship of the church. Perhaps the Western church feels no need to lament—but then it is sadly deluded about how healthy it really is in terms of numbers, influence and spiritual maturity. Perhaps—and this is more likely—it has drunk so deeply at the well of modern Western materialism that it simply does not know what to do with such cries and regards them as little short of embarassing. Yet the human condition is a poor one—and Christians who are aware of the deceitfulness of the human heart and are looking for a better country should know this. A diet of unremittingly jolly choruses and hymns inevitably creates an unrealistic horizon of expectation which sees the normative Christian life as one long triumphalist street party—a theologically incorrect and a pastorally disastrous scenario in a world of broken individuals. Has an unconscious belief that Christianity is—or at least should be—all about health, wealth, and happiness corrupted the content of our worship?

. . . In the psalms, God has given the church a language which allows it to express even the deepest agonies of the human soul in the context of worship. Does our contemporary language of worship reflect the horizon of the expectation regarding the believer’s experience which the psalter proposes as normative? If not, why not? Is it because the comfortable values of Western middle-class consumerism have silently infiltrated the church and made us consider such cries irrelevant, embarrassing, and signs of abject failure?

The biggest shift in thinking when it comes to worship services

Do we take the thing people need and treat it like medicine that must be administered with a spoonful of sugar? 'Cause that's what the "dirt-bike on the stage" approach essentially means: we take something lost people find cool or appealing or attractive and use that to lure them in for the thing we know they don't find cool or appealing or attractive, thereby communicating that "Yes, we know this is the not so cool part" and then try to convince them it's really the important thing. But we've already demonstrated even we don't believe that. Or else we wouldn't feel compelled to dress it up with a dirt-bike. --Jared Wilson

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the worship music industry

"Where self-parody does all the work of mocking for you!"

The Pastor's Kid

By Douglas Wilson

In the pastoral epistles, Paul gives several requirements regarding the children of elders. These are both discussed and disregarded with great regularity in the church.

At issue is whether the children of ministers and elders must be faithful Christians. In Titus, Paul says of elders that they should be “blameless, the husband of one wife, having faithful children not accused of riot or unruly” (Titus 1:6). In 1 Timothy, he requires that an elder must be one that “ruleth well his own house, having his children in subjection with all gravity” (1 Tim. 3:4). He goes on to add that if a man does not know how to rule in his own house, then he will not take good care of the church of God (v. 5).

When this particular discussion erupts, it is usually in the midst of a particular crisis “the unmarried daughter of the pastor is pregnant, the son of one of the ruling elders is in jail, etc. In that context, feelings usually run high and sometimes careful distinctions can be lost. So although these truths must be applied at some point, it would probably be best if we sought to work through them on the chalkboard first.

It is my purpose to argue that the requirement Paul gives here should be taken at face value, and that if a man’s children fall away from the faith (either doctrinally or morally), he is at that point disqualified from formal ministry in the church. But in order to take this stand, certain questions must be answered in order – exegetical, theological, and pastoral.

First, the exegetical question. Debate on this subject usually revolves around whether the phrase in Titus 1:6 should be translated “faithful children” or “believing children.” Of course, if the proper translation is “believing children” then there is no debate anymore, at least among those who believe the Bible. If an elder must have believing children, then how could there be debate on whether he must have believing children?

So for the sake of discussion, let us grant the translation “faithful children.” It certainly is a legitimate translation, and in the last analysis I would like to argue that it doesn’t really change anything. Faithful in what? Faithful to whom? When the translation “faithful children” is urged, it is generally with the thought that a child could be faithful and obedient in external matters, but still be unregenerate. In this thinking, an elder should be required to run his household with good external discipline, but he cannot be expected to have any control over whether his children come to a saving knowledge of Christ.

But the word pistos is used frequently throughout the pastoral epistles, and while it is commonly translated as faithful, we never see this dichotomy between true heart condition and external conformity introduced (see 1 Tim. 1:12, 15; 3:11; 4:9; 6:2; 2 Tim. 2:2, 11, 13; Tit. 1:9; 3:8). In context, the word faithful means faithful down to the ground. If a son is obedient when his father tells him to take out the garbage, but disobeys when he is told to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, in what Pauline sense can the son be described as faithful?

Nevertheless, a particular theological argument against this view has great force with many. The argument goes that the election of our children is in the hands of God, and not in the hands of parents. As Alexander Strauch has argued, “To say this passage means believing Christian children places an impossible standard upon a father. Salvation is a supernatural act of God. God, not good parents (although they are used of God), ultimately brings salvation.”

Now I have argued elsewhere that parents are invited by God to believe that their children will inherit the promises of God. This is not attained by parental works in any way, but is rather a promise appropriated by faith. But again, for the sake of discussion, let’s grant this point.

To place the salvation of an elder’s children outside his influence says nothing about this particular requirement. Suppose this to be the case, and God in His sovereignty has determined not to save one of the pastor’s children. Unless we alter the wording or meaning of this passage, this would simply mean that the sovereign God has determined to reveal His desire to have the pastor step down from his ministerial responsibilities in this particular fashion.

The pastoral argument involves our understanding of what constitutes a good pastor. We still think in terms of qualifications from graduate school, and professional certification. The pastor cannot step down, we argue, because this is his livelihood. How could we expect him to abandon that? But the ministry is not a profession, and the men who hold office in the church do not hold that office as a matter of divine right.

This is why it is important for us to consider the reason Paul gives for placing this requirement on us (1 Tim. 3:5). We have every reason to believe that a man will shepherd the church in the same way he shepherded his family. This, incidentally, is another reason for believing that the work in the home concerns the fundamental spiritual issues, and not just external discipline. We are evaluating the same kind of work in different realms.

A man is qualified for ministry through many instruments and means. But the spiritual condition of his children is right at the center of his qualifications.

http://www.credenda.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=231%3Athe-pastors-kid&catid=100%3Afamily&Itemid=122

On Loving Mankind and Loving People in Particular

HT: Justin Taylor

“I love mankind,” he said, “but I am amazed at myself: the more I love mankind in general, the less I love people in particular, that is, individually, as separate persons. In my dreams,” he said, “I often went so far to think passionately of serving mankind, and, it may be, would really have gone to the cross for people if it were somehow suddenly necessary, and yet I am incapable of living in the same room with anyone even for two days, this I know from experience. As soon as someone is there, close to me, his personality oppresses my self-esteem and restricts my freedom. In twenty-four hours I can begin to hate even the best of men: one because he takes too long eating his dinner, another because he has a cold and keeps blowing his nose. I become the enemy of people the moment they touch me,” he said. “On the other hand, it has always happened that the more I hate people individually, the more ardent becomes my love for humanity as a whole.”

—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, transl. Peavear and Volokhonsky, p. 57

Or, as the idea comes through in pop culture:

Redemptive Righteousness

By Peter J. Leithart

Jesus teaches His disciples that we have to exhibit a righteousness that surpassed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees (Matthew 5:20), a demand that is one of the central themes of the Sermon on the Mount. What does it mean? How should a disciple’s righteousness go beyond the righteousness of Jewish leaders?

Perhaps the Torah was God’s will for the Old Testament, but now Jesus brings a new law that is not only different from but contrary to the law of Moses. That explanation doesn’t work, since Jesus Himself says that He has not come to abolish but to fulfill the Torah or prophets. Whatever He means by “fulfill,” we can be sure it doesn’t mean “abolish.”

Perhaps, then, Jesus is emphasizing the internal demands of the law. Instead of focusing on externals, like the scribes and Pharisees, Jesus focuses on the internal attitudes and desires. This doesn’t work either. Jesus does address attitudes, but so did the Mosaic law. More importantly, Jesus commands actions, not just attitudes. When He warns against practicing righteousness before men, He goes on to require a different set of practices concerning alms, prayer and fasting. He doesn’t say, Do these things with a different attitude. He says, Do them differently.

Perhaps, then, the Sermon outlines an impossible ethical ideal that Jesus never really expected us to fulfill. The sermon is the law part of a law-gospel dialectic: It drives us to holy despair about our own sinfulness, so that we throw ourselves on the imputed righteousness of Christ. Much as we might like this to be the case, this reading is not correct. Jesus’ sermon is about right living.

So what does he mean? Let’s start with the term “righteousness.” Though the word often means something close to “law-abiding,” it doesn’t always mean that. When Paul talks about the righteousness of God revealed in the gospel (Romans 1:16-17), he refers to the righteous, powerful action of God in Christ that restores sinners to God and mends the world. For God, righteousness is not merely conformity to rules, but redemptive action.

For us too. That’s what Jesus is demanding of His disciples: He has come as the embodied righteousness of God to bring in the restoration of all things, what he announces as the kingdom of heaven. And His instructions show us how we participate in that restoration. The life that Jesus requires surpasses the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees because the practices, habits, and actions of disciples break through the perverse customs and habits of sinful humanity and bring the kingdom of God onto earth.

To see how this works, we need to notice a structural feature of the sermon. Matthew 5:21-48 is often read as a series of “antinomies.” On this interpretation, Jesus is saying something like this: “The elders teach only an external and visible obedience, but I teach something deeper. The ancients say, Don’t murder, but they imply that we need not worry overmuch about hatred. Don’t commit adultery, but don’t worry overmuch about lust. Jesus deepens the commandment, so that it applies to desires, attitudes of the heart.”

As Glen Stassen has convincingly argued, this section of the sermon is not a series of antinomies but a series of triads. On murder, Jesus doesn’t say, “1) You have heard, do not murder, 2) but I say don’t hate.” Rather, He says: 1) You have heard, do not murder, and those who murder are liable to court; 2) but I say that anger and insults leave you in danger of the court and even of hell; therefore 3) leave your offering and go be reconciled to your brother. Only section 3 is an imperative. Jesus commandment is not: “Don’t be angry.” Jesus’ commandment is: “Go be reconciled.” That is the greater righteousness. Jesus never commands us to avoid anger. He teaches how to defuse anger so that it doesn’t escalate to murder. In that way, we share in the establishment of God’s kingdom of peace.

On lust, we have the same thing. He doesn’t merely contrast the command “Do not commit adultery” with the command “Do not lust.” He does deepen the commandment against adultery by teaching that lust is already adultery, not merely a prelude to it. But the statement about lust is not an imperative. The imperative follows in 5:29-30: Cut it off. Remove the offending organ. That is the greater righteousness, the righteousness that shares in God’s redemptive righteousness.

To be righteous as Jesus is righteous, it’s not enough to avoid anger or lust. Jesus is not giving us a transformed set of purity regulations – “Avoid this, avoid that, don’t touch that!” He gives us a set of positive commands. To practice the righteousness greater than that of the scribes we have to obey Jesus’ commands in order to break through the chains of lust so that we can cultivate chaste relations with the opposite sex. It’s not enough to avoid hating enemies; you need to do good to them, to break through the habits of hatred, counter-hatred, escalating hatred, that destroys life.

Similarly, it’s not enough passively to avoid retaliation (5:38-42); we must actively give to those who abuse us. Indifference to enemies is not enough (5:43-48); Jesus demands that we love our enemies, in ways that reflect the righteous generosity of our Father. It’s not enough for us to avoid pride when we give alms, pray, or fast (6:1-18); we should do all these things in secret.

Our instinct is, Get real, Jesus! His demands may all be great for a perfect world, but we don’t live in a perfect world. We live in a hard world, and you’ve got to cut some corners, break some eggs, defend yourself, take a little bit of vengeance, if you’re going to survive. Jesus says, No. The whole issue comes down to trust. Do we trust our Father to give us what you need? Do we trust that we’ll still have clothes if we keep giving them away, that we’ll still have bread if we are generous, that we’ll still have a face if we keep letting our cheeks be used as a punching bag, that we’ll still have dignity if we give things away to our enemies?

Jesus says: Trust your Father, and obey my commandments. Trust your Father, and live out the righteousness of that faith. Trust your Father, and live the redemptive, transforming righteousness that surpasses the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees.

http://www.credenda.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=226:redemptive-righteousness&catid=96:theology&Itemid=122

Providence and secularism

by Peter J. Leithart

Reflecting on discussion of Jesus’ statement, “Without me you can do nothing,” Stephen A. Long writes, “If one denies that the human will receives not only its being, but also its natural motion and application to action from God, one makes the will a demiurgically unmoved first cause. Divine providence extends only so far as the divine causality. It follows that if the human will is not subject to divine power then naturally it is not subject to divine government. . . . Thus our free acts escape dependence upon God for their coming-to-be, it will be an axiomatic inference to separate the governance of these acts from the divine government. Human action then comes to represent a zone of being and good beyond the divine power and outside the scope of divine government.”

Thus, “the denial of God’s causality over human freedom . . . appears to be a critical intra-Catholic contribution to the evolution of secularist anti-theism in the moral realm. For what do we mean by secularism save the claim that the public order is outside the jurisdiction of divine rule? And what could more directly imply this posture than the claim that our free actions are outside the divine government?”