Preparing for Indonesia

[current book: DONE!]

Two things:

First of all, my reading is done! I actually finished two weeks ago (school does make it hard to be a punctual blogger...) having zipped through the end of Paul, the Catholic Epistles, and Revelation all in a day. I'll hopefully blog through some of the New Testament books in the months leading up to my departure for Indonesia in January.

Second, for this post I want to take a break from discussing Scripture to give a glimpse of how our trip preparation has been going. Since starting the semester, our team has met once every Wednesday night. In addition to prayer, we've spent the last few weeks discussing how to get ready for our ministry in Indonesia.

Our main outreach will be teaching short English lessons in a university and/or high-school setting. Our job is twofold: first, our simple presence helps improve the credibility of our partner ministry. Since their main outreach is to plant libraries and literacy centers around the country, using native English-speakers in their educational programs strongly increases the ministry's credibility in the eyes of the Indonesian government.

Second, we hope to build relationships with Indonesian students that can eventually lead to friendship with our Indonesian ministry partners. We know that because our time in the country is short, our Indonesian brothers and sisters will have a far better chance of leading these students to Christ than we will. I know from my time in China that many young people from other parts of the world are eager to befriend foreigners, especially Americans. Our hope, therefore, is that our American faces will be "bait" that will allow us to connect our student friends to our Indonesian brothers and sisters, who will then build long-term relationships that preach the gospel.

Since teaching English is integral to our work, we were blessed to participate in a coaching session two weeks ago with a missionary who has had much experience teaching English with the very ministry we'll be serving. Talk about helpful!

Then last week, we Skyped a Partners International worker with experience in Indonesia. He gave us great answers to some of our questions about the nitty-gritty of Indonesian culture: "Do women have to wear head coverings?" (rarely) "What's the proper way to greet someone?" (never with your left hand) "Is it offensive to take pictures of people?" (nope). So on and so forth.

As we move into November, my guess is that now that we know a little about teaching English and Indonesian culture, we'll start formulating some lesson plans. We've already bought our plane tickets, and I myself am currently working on getting my passport renewed. With only two and a half months until our departure, Indonesia is beginning to feel closer and closer indeed.

What of my team? Every member is fabulous to say the least. Here's a group photo:

From left to right: Will Pollock (my roommate!), Sam Miyauchi, me, Cristi Bratt, Dottie Mohrlang, Kayley Riesenhoover, Stacey Eyman, Anneliese Dailey & Sarah Sauter. As you can see, women are far more spiritual than men when it comes to mission work...

We've had a great time getting to know one another, praying for one another, and learning with one another. Even now, it's clear there's a great deal of spiritual maturity in the group, not to mention unity. We laugh a lot and genuinely enjoy each other's company. I don't think I could have asked for a better team.

Prayers for us always appreciated!

Why Ezekiel Is My Favorite Book of the Bible

[current book: 1 Thessalonians]

[posting on: Ezekiel]

Two years ago, I stumbled across a sermon* by Ravi Zacharias on the book of Ezekiel. To this day, it remains my favorite sermon, and also the sermon that hooked me on what is now my favorite book in all Scripture: the oft horrifying, oft hopeful, oft mysterious book of Ezekiel.

Ezekiel is an exilic book, written while Ezekiel was among the exiles from Judah on the River Kebar near Babylon. I see the exile as an apex of the Old Testament. The account of Israel, first under the judges and then under the kings, constitutes a withering train of sins that builds and builds until God's forbearance is exhausted and Jerusalem and its temple are destroyed. No event could have been more earth-shattering to Israel, and for this very reason, Israel in the books after the exile is changed: this is the Israel that experienced revival under Ezra and Nehemiah, the Israel that abandoned her idols, and the Israel that tried so zealously to cling to the Law that she eventually embraced a self-righteousness that crucified her Christ. The exile is a pivotal moment in the Old Testament, circumscribed by the events before and after it.

There are only four books in the Old Testament that are written during this crucible or all crucibles: Jeremiah, Lamentations, Ezekiel, and Daniel. Yet it is Ezekiel I love most. While each of these four books paints a terrifying picture of what it is to fall into the hands of a angry God, Ezekiel's visions of Jerusalem's destruction, Ezekiel's visions of the departure of the Glory from the temple, Ezekiel's visions of Israel receiving the punishment she utterly deserves, are more vivid, more real, and more breathtaking to me than any other passage of wrath in the Bible.

In part, this is because this judgment is not merely a message Ezekiel speaks: he becomes that very message in his own flesh. It is no coincidence that one of Scripture's greatest books of judgment begins with towering visions of God. No longer can Ezekiel speak of hellfire and brimstone indifferently: he trembles before his very message because he has seen the holiness of God.

And his flesh does more than tremble. God commands that Ezekiel lie on his left side for 390 days to put Israel's sins upon himself (Ezek. 4:4-5). Then he is commanded to lie on his right side for 40 days to put Judah's sins upon himself (Ezek. 4:6). He is told to reduce his meals to a few ounces of bread and water as a demonstration of a siege diet when Jerusalem is attacked (Ezek. 4:9-13). He is made to shave, slice, and burn his hair as a picture of Israel's fate (Ezek. 5:1-4). And in what is one of the most stunning moments of the entire book, Ezekiel's is told that his wife will die in order to show Israel how their pride and joy—the temple and the city—will be swept away (Ezek. 24:16-18).

In the spirit of Ezekiel 24:24, Zacharias says the following:

"When Ezekiel walked, when Ezekiel looked into a mirror, when Ezekiel looked at the food he was going to partake, when Ezekiel looked at his home, every sense of his surrounding and inmost being reminded him that the message was not an aspect of his life; it was an intrinsic part of who he was."

The message of Ezekiel is no mere herald of sin and judgment. It is a visceral reality that was written on the Prophet's heart and—as a result—on mine. In the same way that Ezekiel's heart was sensitized to the evil treachery of sin, to the adamantine inevitability of punishment, to God's long-suffering love for his people—so in the same way, my heart has been etched with a hatred of sin, a humility before judgment, a fear of Almighty God.

Read Ezekiel 7. Read Ezekiel 9. It is my conviction that if these passages prompt us to indict God for cruelty, we scarcely know God. It is easy to love what God loves. But do we hate what God hates? If I read these chapters and do not "grieve and lament" (Ezek. 9:4) over the wickedness of sin, my heart is far from God's. May my model be Ezekiel, a man brought so close to God that his heart was sensitized to God's own.

And this hardly scratches the surface.

Contained within the middle chapters of Ezekiel are some of Scripture's most stunning prophecies of a day when judgment shall give way to restoration: of a crown returning "to whom it rightfully belongs" (Ezek. 21:27); of a "desolate land" being "cultivated instead of lying desolate in the sight of all who pass through it" (Ezek. 36:34); of a heart of stone becoming a heart of flesh (Ezek. 36:26); of a valley of bones revived by the very Spirit of God (Ezek. 37:14). Then toward the end, Ezekiel concludes with what is probably one of the most enigmatic passages in the entire Bible, a strange vision of a restored temple that parallels no other temple built in history, a temple too precisely described to seem allegorical but too theologically bizarre to seem literal.

For these reasons and more, Ezekiel is my favorite book of the Bible. Read it! And may our hearts be changed to look like God's.

*If you want to listen to Zacharias's sermon, go to this link, select Zacharias's name at the bottom of the media player, and click on the talk entitled "Preparation of the Heart."

Jeremiads

[current book: 1 Corinthians]

[posting on: Jeremiah]

Now that I'm half-way through the New Testament, it seems bizarre to reminisce about the Prophets. But I can't help myself. With the possible tie of Paul's letters, the Prophets are hands-down my favorite portion of Scripture. I shot straight through them in a week out of sheer joy for what I was reading and would blog about them for pages and pages if I didn't have these time constraints.

For now, let it suffice to share at least one short thought on this mysterious, vivid, and paramount portion of Scripture: namely that of all that could be said about the Prophets, it is their closeness to God that strikes me most. Speaking his very words, they had insight not only into God's plan, but also God's perspective: they recorded how he saw things, and their hearts were sensitized to beat with his.

Yet these men of God were still men. For example, I love how Jeremiah, prophesying with fiery honesty the coming destruction of Jerusalem, still laments for his people:

               Oh, my anguish, my anguish! 
                   I writhe in pain. 
               Oh, the agony of my heart!
                   My heart pounds within me,
                   I cannot keep silent. 
               For I have heard the sound of the trumpet; 
                   I have heard the battle cry. (Jer. 4:19)

Or four chapters later:

               Since my people are crushed, I am crushed;
                   I mourn, and horror grips me. (Jer. 8:21)

Sometimes I feel like this. It's a terrifying thing to realize that God is absolutely serious when he promises to judge all mankind. And while I don't fear that judgment because of the man who bore it for me, I remain a human being. 

Lately, I have not been able to look at a midnight sky without images of fire and wrath consuming an earth that deserves it. I revel that God is just in pouring out his wrath, but a part of me feels such a fierce kinship to my own species—saved or not—that my heart cannot help but unfurl a jeremiad of anguish.

All I can do is throw up my hands and declare that God is God. And that more stupefying than the gravity of his coming judgment is that which in light of that gravity becomes the most breathtaking truth imaginable: that "[b]ecause of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail" (Lam. 3:22).

Back from Hiatus!

[current book: 1 Corinthians]

I'm back! So sorry. I got carted off to school, which has held me in bondage ever since. The good news is that in my absence, I'm almost through the entire Bible. Somehow, I read through the Prophets (Isaiah-Malachi) in a single week, and since then I've been soaking in the New Testament.

Summer ends this Saturday, which is my deadline. Stay tuned for some "retroactive" posts on some of the books I've recently finished, as well as a final hurrah as I reach the finish line.

Thanks so much for following along!

Jesus Is Worthy

[current book: Psalms]

In my post on the biblical foundation for missions, I mentioned the idea that Jesus is worthy of missions.

The more I've been chewing on this idea, the more I've encountered it in Scripture. I've already mentioned Psalm 2:

"He said to me, 'You are my Son; today I have become your Father.' Ask of me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession. You will rule them with an iron scepter; you will dash them to pieces like pottery" (Ps. 2:7b-9)

Then there's Psalm 82:

"Rise up, O God, judge the earth, for all the nations are your inheritance" (Ps. 82:8).

Or how about Revelation 5?

"And they sang a new song: 'You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation" (Rev. 5:9).

In the first two passages, the nations are called the Lord's inheritance. This means that when we go into the world as missionaries, we get to participate in Jesus' reclamation of what is already his: the praise and worship of every "nation, tribe, people, and language" (Rev. 7:9). What a check against pride this is. While it is exciting to lead lost peoples to faith, we can never claim the fruit of missions as our own. These fruits have belonged to Jesus since the foundation of the world. And if this is so, they are his completely regardless of our efforts.

The third passage underscores this notion. Why is Jesus the only one worthy to open the scroll? Because he—not us—purchased men from every tongue and tribe. Missions is Jesus' way of bringing glory to himself, reaffirming that he, not we, is worthy of it.

Sometimes I wonder whether my attitude toward missions is the attitude of the thousands of young men who volunteered for service in the two World Wars. At least according to the common cinema stereotype, many of these recruits joined their cause in search of thrills, often naïve about what they were truly fighting for.

Certainly, missions is a war, and its cause is absolutely just. But how wrong my heart is if I sign up for the ranks because my priority is my own pleasure. Instead, any zeal should come from the knowledge that Jesus is worthy of my time, my energy, my efforts, and my heart, because Jesus is worthy of missions.

Besides, if I devote myself to the fame of my God rather than the furtherance of my thrills, might I not find thrills in the process? Does not Paul, discarding what was to his profit, compare following Jesus to an impassioned race that ends in glory (Phil. 3:13-14, 2 Tim. 4:7-8)? Alternatively, I like to think of how Paul describes in Romans that humanity is captive to sin (Rom. 7:15-24). Now, instead of missions being about earning another notch on my belt of conceit, it instead becomes a selfless sacrifice: if the world is captive, should we not pity it? And are not believers part of a great, hair-raising rescue mission, working behind enemy lines to save as many of our brothers and sisters as possible? If one pairs this passion to dependence on Christ, missions becomes the opposite of arrogance while still being exciting to boot. How amazing that, though we don't deserve it, Jesus sometimes allows us to experience joy in our service to him.

Above all, may my heart be humble. I think of Jesus' words in Luke 17:

"Suppose one of you had a servant plowing or looking after the sheep. Would he say to the servant when he comes in from the field, 'Come along now and sit down to eat'? Would he not rather say, 'Prepare my supper, get yourself ready and wait on me while I eat and drink; after that you may eat and drink'? Would he thank the servant because he did what he was told to do? So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, 'We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty'" (Lk. 17:7-10).

Missionaries are not some elite breed of Christians. They are unextraordinary servants stumbling in the service of an extraordinary God. And when a missionary's race has been run, may our unworthiness fade into his holiness to bring forth a song of eternal praise.

Old Testament Hermeneutics

[current book: Psalms]

By now I've made it through the Pentateuch (Genesis through Deuteronomy) and the historical books (Joshua through Esther) of the Old Testament. Presently, I'm progressing through the wisdom literature (Job through Song of Solomon) and will soon arrive at my one of my most beloved sections of Scripture, the Prophets.

At this point, I want to pause to discuss a subject that I am convinced is essential to understanding the often confusing chunk of writings we call the Old Testament, the issue of hermeneutics. 

Hermeneutics is a theological word whose project is to determine how Scripture ought to be interpreted. Granted, I know that sounds like a boring thing to scratch one's head over. But in reality, hermeneutics is devastatingly important. Like it or not, our hermeneutical assumptions are at work every time we read the Bible. When we read that God created in six days, do we take those six days literally or figuratively? When Jesus commanded his followers to eat his body and drink his blood, are we to understand him metaphorically or not? And is Revelation an outline of impending events or is it a non-futuristic book of worship, expressed through symbols and allegories? Each of these questions, hotly debated by theologians, must ultimately circle back to the general assumptions one employs when interpreting Scripture, a fact that emphasizes the importance of a hermeneutic that is carefully reasoned and spiritually guided.

I emphasize hermeneutics in the context of the Old Testament, because in my mind the comparative dearth of intensive, expositional preaching on the Old Testament from the pulpit has led not only to a general lack of familiarity with its content, but also a consequent carelessness in how we interpret that content. Instead, the New Testament has gained priority over the Old Testament, giving rise to theology that ignores central Old Testament doctrines that are foundational to a proper exegesis of the New Testament. The result is an erroneous New Testament theology that is then allowed to reinterpret Old Testament passages in a way that actually distorts those passages' intended meaning. The result of such a hermeneutic that forbids the Old Testament to speak for itself is a systematic theology that can neither make sense of Scripture holistically nor harmonize both testaments in tandem.

For this reason, I want to argue that a central principle of Old Testament hermeneutics is the notion that the Old Testament should not be reinterpreted in light of shortsighted New Testament theology. In order to demonstrate the importance of this principle, I turn to two Old Testament topics that illustrate my point.

1. Covenant

"Covenant" is one of the most theologically significant words in Scripture. Whenever the term "covenant" is employed, it refers to a binding set of stipulations and promises made between two particular parties. Of these, there are six covenants in which God is a party, all of which first appear in the Old Testament:

(1) The Noahic Covenant (Gen. 9:8-17)

(2) The Abrahamic Covenant (Gen. 12:1-3, Gen. 15:1-21, Gen. 17:1-21, Gen. 22:17-18, etc.)

(3) The Mosaic Covenant 

(4) The Priestly Covenant (Num. 25:11-13)

(5) The Davidic Covenant (2 Sa. 7:8-16, 2 Ch. 17:7-14)

(6) The New Covenant (Jer. 31:31-37)

While one could spend pages discussing these six in detail, it is crucial to understand (1) that each of the covenants is specific in their promises, in their audience, and in whether they are conditional or unconditional. Moreover, (2) these six covenants provide the framework for the entirety of God's plan as described in the Bible. For this reason, the way one interprets these covenants is of the utmost importance: failure to interpret them properly makes it impossible to understand God's plan in its fullness, including the most important aspects of that plan such as the nation of Israel, the cross of Christ, and the Day of Judgment.

As it happens, the interpretation of covenant is actually one of the most contentious issues in all of modern theology. While some theologians view Scripture in terms of the six covenants mentioned above, other theologians, based on the New Testament's dichotomy between works and grace, infer that all of God's dealings with humanity can be categorized into either a "Covenant of Works" or a "Covenant of Grace." For these theologians (called Covenant Theologians), an institution like the Law given at Sinai is an example of the former Covenant of Works. On the other hand, the undeserved sacrifice of Jesus on the cross is an example of the latter Covenant of Grace.

Though I can see how a contrast between works and grace does seem to be a byproduct of God's redemptive dealings, I submit that Scripture does not structure God's redemptive dealings in this way. Put another way, imposing a Covenant of Works and a Covenant of Grace over the six covenants delineated in Scripture is, I believe, an example of forcing a skewed reading of the New Testament over the Old in a way that distorts the Old's intended meaning. And in the process, the six biblical covenants are often glossed over.

If instead of subjecting the Old Testament to the man-made covenants of works and grace one allows the Old Testament to speak for itself, one sees that its six covenants actually provide the foundation for a proper understanding of the New Testament and indeed all of Scripture.

How does this work itself out practically? 

Take the New Covenant, the covenant that was inaugurated through Jesus' death and resurrection and which serves as the basis for our salvation. When Jesus announced that he was making a "New Covenant" in his blood, he was neither ignoring nor inventing his choice of words. He was making a very specific reference to the New Covenant spoken of by the prophet Jeremiah, with which every one of his Jewish listeners would have been familiar. A study of the New Covenant in its context in Jeremiah reveals that this covenant was not made to just anybody, and certainly not to Gentiles. Rather, the New Covenant was made explicitly with the house of Israel and Judah alone (Jer. 31:31), though thanks to Israel's rejection of her Messiah, the Gentiles have been grafted into this covenant by God's grace (Rom. 11:11-24, Eph. 3:4-6). Moreover, the New Covenant—for reasons I won't go into here—itself unfolds from the covenants before it, especially the Abrahamic Covenant. Thus, when Jesus, reclining at the Last Supper, promised that the inauguration of the New Covenant was near, he was acting within a redemptive framework that God had promised thousands of years before.

Hopefully, the example of the New Covenant (much less the covenants in general) underscores that a proper Old Testament hermeneutic does not distort the Old Testament's original meaning by constraining it within a falsely dichotomized New Testament framework but instead allows the Old Testament—especially its covenantal structure—to speak for itself.

2. Israel

A second Old Testament topic that demands hermeneutical accuracy concerns the identity of Israel. 

For example, take a passage like Ezekiel 37. In Ezekiel 37, Ezekiel sees a vision of a valley of dry bones that God brings back to life. On a first reading, it is tempting to see this vision as a metaphor for spiritual revival in the Church, and indeed, many churches would teach this interpretation. Yet in verse eleven Ezekiel is told that "these bones are the whole house of Israel" (Ezek. 37:11), suggesting that this vision has a specific fulfillment for a specific group of people.

Indeed, this is precisely the case. A study of the wider passage sets this vision in the context of a prophesied restoration of Israel. This restoration includes Israel's reacquisition of the land promised to Abraham and a mass acknowledgement of Jesus as Messiah. In fact, it is likely that this prophecy in Ezekiel 37 is what Paul refers to when he discusses Israel's restoration bringing "life from the dead" (Rom. 11:15). Yet if one uses a hermeneutic that allegorizes the term "Israel" in this passage, one completely misses Ezekiel's meaning.

This same principle could be discussed in light of innumerable Old Testament passages. In Joel where God promises to one day judge all nations for how they have treated his people Israel (Joel 3:1-3), he is not speaking allegorically about judging those who have persecuted the Church. When Joel says Israel, he means Israel. In Isaiah where God promises to "gather the exiles of Israel" and "assemble the scattered people of Judah from the four corners of the earth" (Is. 11:12), he is not referring to a metaphorical ingathering of believers. He is talking about the very thing we are seeing in our day: Jews from around the world returning to their homeland, as was prophesied more than two thousand years ago. Or—to use a verse frequently taken out of context—in Jeremiah when God tells the exiles, "'I know the plans I have for you,' ... 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future'" (Jer. 29:11), he is speaking first and foremost to Israel, even though I believe there is evidence elsewhere in Scripture that God knows the plans he has for every human being.

Nevertheless, it is still a common teaching that the term "Israel" should be reinterpreted to mean the Church. This hermeneutic derives from a doctrine called supersessionism, the belief that in light of the Jews' rejection of their Messiah, the Church has replaced Israel. Yet I submit not only that supersessionism is an incorrect doctrine but that to reinterpret Israelite language in the Old Testament to apply to the Church leads to a woeful misunderstanding of the Old Testament's intended meaning. In the same way that a husband would be a moral monster to promise marriage to one woman but then claim that he actually intended that promise for another woman, God did not make promises to Israel but then change his mind and reappropriate them to the Church. If the Church tries to claim Israel's promises for herself where there is no biblical basis for doing so, it will inevitably promulgate a faulty understanding not just of the Old Testament but of all of Scripture.

So. How does this deliciously esoteric blog post radically transform your life??

Let's say you're reading through the Pentateuch and you come to the part about God making a covenant with Abraham. You notice how gracious God is to Abraham, how God blesses weak, aged Abraham and barren, grouchy Sarah with a child they don't deserve. But don't just see this covenant as yet another example of what a nice guy God is. Rather, study this covenant throughout Scripture to see how it serves as an essential foundation for all of God's redemptive plan, much of which has yet to be fulfilled.

Or let's say you're reading through the Prophets. You come to the part in Zephaniah where God says, "Sing, O Daughter of Zion; shout aloud, O Israel! Be glad and rejoice with all your heart, O Daughter of Jerusalem! ... At that time I will gather you; at that time I will bring you home. I will give you honor and praise among all the peoples of the earth when I restore your fortunes before your very eyes" (Zeph. 3:14, 20). Don't immediately read yourself into this passage and conclude that its primary meaning is to show how gracious God is to sinners. God is gracious to sinners, but in this passage in Zephaniah he is referring to a specific spatiotemporal event yet future when he will restore the fortunes of Israel, in alignment with the very particular promises he established in the covenants and confirmed in the Prophets.

All that to say: how you interpret Scripture is important. May God continue to guide us into the everlasting truth of his Word!

Update & Scriptural Basis for Missions

Here goes nothing!—my very first video blog...

Watch to hear (1) an update on how my fundraising has been going and (2) what the Bible says about missions.

How Dare We Blaspheme Our Brothers

[current book: 2 Samuel]

The book of 2 Samuel begins with David's lament for Jonathan and Saul, slain in battle in the previous chapter.

It's easy to understand why David would weep for Jonathan, his dearest friend who "loved him as himself" (1 Sam. 18:1). But Saul was a jerk. Disobedient to God, murderous toward David, and moody besides, it is astonishing to read that David would grieve the man who had chased him into caves and stymied him from inheriting his rightful kingship promised by God.

So why the tears?

Because David, his heart after God's, saw Saul as God saw Saul. Saul was a slimeball. But he was also God's anointed, whose authority, however undeserved, had been given him from above. Hence in 1 Samuel 26, David rebukes Joab's brother Abishai for threatening Saul's life:

"But David said to Abishai, 'Don't destroy him! Who can lay a hand on the Lord's anointed and be guiltless? As surely as the Lord lives,' he said, 'the Lord himself will strike him; either his time will come and he will die, or he will go into battle and perish. But the Lord forbid that I should lay a hand on the Lord's anointed" (1 Sam. 26:9-11a).

David gets not only that justice is the Lord's but that he himself can bring no charge against him whom God has chosen—not because of Saul's merits but because of God's choice. Later, God would indeed judge Saul. But that's just it: God would judge. Not David.

My point is that David's attitude toward Saul should be ours toward our fellow believers. Just as Saul was chosen by God, so every believer is chosen by God. And in fact, this latter choice surpasses the former, in that whereas Saul was chosen to be sovereign, believers are chosen to be saved. How much more, then, could Paul, writing from the zenith of all Christian theology, later say, "Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies" (Rom. 8:33).

Paul's point was that no matter how flawed and broken a Christian is, that person has been made righteous in God's sight. When God looks at him, he no longer sees sin. He sees a child of God, the righteousness of Jesus, a believer for whom Christ died. So often, we think that "Christian" = "someone well-behaved." But this is blasphemy. There is no one "well-behaved" (Is. 64:6, Ps. 53:2-3, Rom. 3:23). The definition of a Christian is: "GOD CHOSE YOU." And if God has chosen a man, there can therefore be no charge against him.

How dare we judge our brother. Jesus Christ is standing before the Father professing—I almost imagine him jumping up and down joyously shouting—the name of every single beloved believer written in the Lamb's book of life. When we accuse, when we judge, when we say even the tiniest tittle against a fellow sibling in Christ, what are we trying to do but tear down Jesus himself from his triumphant place of intercession before a holy God?

When Bonhoeffer lived at Finkenwalde Seminary, he made a rule that no one could talk about another person in that person's absence.¹ Extreme? Perhaps. But I like this idea. It certainly guarded against gossip. For just as David said "the Lord forbid that I should lay a hand on the Lord's anointed," so do I say, "the Lord forbid that I should blaspheme my brother."

¹Renate Wind, Dietrich Bonhoeffer: A Spoke in the Wheel, trans. John Bowden, (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1992), 102.

Holy Fear, Hellish Fire, and a Burning Bush

[current book: 2 Samuel]

I don't know if you know this, but this past year my soul has been through a theological washing machine.

I attribute this to discovering the Bible. Granted, I'd thumbed through the thing before. But last spring when—mysteriously, miraculously—God started uncovering for me vistas within Scripture I had never thought to see, I came to realize just how shallow my understanding of God's character really is—which began a deliciously invigorating scramble to mine his book for all it's worth.

On the whole this has been indescribably rich. God created this monster, and he has been blissfully feeding it, such that even (dare I say especially?) a book like Leviticus has become savory Scriptural grub. 

But in a way, this is terrifying. After all, what reading Scripture really does is shuttle you straight into the uncharted territory of God's heart, and who knows what you might find there? Just when you thought that your familiar friends Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John told you all there is to know about our gooey, lovey Lord, you read a less preached-on passage like Isaiah 13:6-16 and realize that the horrifyingly wrathful God of Israel spoke of not just Beatitudes but brimstone. Study the Word. All of the Word. With white-faced terror you will be winded with the knowledge that your (imagined) God is too small, your head is too big, and our cuddly Christ has a sword sticking out of his mouth (Rev. 1:16).

With these thoughts in mind, take a rabbit trail through what happened to me this afternoon. For a good couple hours today, I was tuning in to a series of lectures on eschatology. Eschatology is a theological word, deriving from the Greek word ἔσχατος (eschatos), meaning "last." It's the study of "last things," such as Bible prophecy, the Day of the Lord, the Second Coming of Christ, so on and so forth. 

Eschatology fascinates me. But more than that, it terrifies me. Don't misunderstand me here: I'm not saying I fear Hell, because I know (courtesy of a certain carpenter) that I'm not going there. Nor am I saying that I have a problem with God's judgment. In a way that is (blissfully, beautifully) impossible to describe, I am actually soaking in comfort: I know he's just, I know he's good, and that tension rests well with me. I've never felt the need to tumble off the cliff of heresy by sweeping Hell under the rug for the sake of my own whitewashed comfort.

But there's this holy fear, this wide-eyed terror, at how serious God is about his wrath that makes me uncomfortable but somehow alive. K.P. Yohannan, Asia's passionate preacher, credits his evangelistic fire to a crisis in his life in which he found himself unable to deny the reality of Hell thanks to the teaching of Scripture. Today I understood that fire Yohannan talks about. I didn't before—before I had bothered to think about the rich man and Lazarus, before I had had Revelation 20 thrust in my face. You want to be on fire for God? Read about how God is a consuming fire. Wrestle with the tough passages. Preach Hell. Obedience to Christ becomes as deep as eternity is wide.

My point is that this afternoon was a case-in-point for what I've been experiencing through Scripture this whole year. As I've discovered obscure passages, stumbled through eschatology, wrestled with Hell, chewed on judgment, and come to the visceral realization that every single syllable of God's word has a pointed, particular, powerful meaning regarding his nature and character, the heart of God has been writ larger and larger on my own as the most mysterious, priceless, gorgeous thing my soul has ever experienced.

In fact, what amazes me is that my soul hasn't burst.

After all, when I think about this logically, none of us should be able to bear this. How can we taste such seemingly paradoxical, majestically monumental wrath, love, mercy, and holiness and still stay sane? How can the heavens fit inside our heart, much less Hell? How can I possibly read of bowls and seals and trumpets, of one third of mankind slaughtered (Rev. 9:18), of blood up to horses' bridles (Rev. 14:20), of the Jesus who "treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God" (Rev. 19:15), without every shred of my soul descending into madness and despair?

Three thousand plus years ago, I think Moses glimpsed the answer in a bush that, though on fire, was not consumed (Ex. 3:2).

Botanically fascinating? Yes. But isn't it interesting how more than one thousand years later on the Day of Pentecost, when the Spirit came to inhabit believers with a permanence that it never had before, the Spirit appeared as tongues of fire that not only came to "rest on each of them" (Acts 2:3) but ultimately to dwell within each of them. Though shining with the God who dwells in unapproachable light (1 Tim. 6:16), the believers themselves were not blinded. Though burning with the God who is a consuming fire (Dt. 4:24), they themselves were not consumed. Moses' bush models sanctified saints.

When it comes to knowing God, I feel like that bush. The cry of Ivan Karamazov screams in my ears: that the earth, in concert with my head, must split open at the reality of such a God, in all his damning holiness, all his jealous wrathfulness, all his towering eternity.

But it doesn't. The earth weeps but does not wither. My head bleeds but does not break.

And somehow, God burns within me, yet I am not consumed.

Out of Egypt

So, you know how the exodus is a type of the cross? As in, Moses delivers Israel like Christ delivers believers, the Passover lamb is like the Lamb of God, etc., etc. Isn't it interesting, therefore, that Moses (a type of Christ) carries Joseph's bones out of Egypt? In the same way, the cross means not only forgiveness and peace with God; it also means a literal resurrection from the dead: our bones, too, will be carried up from this earthly Egypt when we receive a "heavenly body" (1 Cor. 15:40).

Isn't the Bible amazing?

P.S.: I'll be out of town this next week without internet access. I'm excited to catch up on some of my reading. Expect a whole whirlwind of posts when I get back!

Long Way Home

[current book: Exodus]

"When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter. For God said, 'If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.' So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea. The Israelites went up out of Egypt armed for battle." (Ex. 13:17-18)

Love this. God turns down a short cut through Philistine country, even though the Israelites, armed and ready, would probably have had at least a fighting chance if war had broken out. Instead, he takes them the long way, which results in them being trapped between an obnoxiously uncrossable body of water and a giddy band of bloodthirsty Egyptians. He denies them the challenge they could have faced and gives them the challenge they could never have faced.

Isn't sin like this? We're told that we've been enslaved to an evil we cannot defeat (Rom. 7:21-24). In the same way that only God could have delivered Israel through the Red Sea, so only can the Good Shepherd lead us through the valley of sin and the shadow of death.

Imagine if he let us fight our own personal "Philistines." We wouldn't need him. We could fight the fight ourselves. But how small a world that would be, if we were its savior! 

Praise God that he takes us the long way. Praise God we can't part the Red Sea. Praise God that in our weakness he gains glory. Praise God that he alone can set us free.

"For God has bound all men over to disobedience so that he may have mercy on them all" (Rom. 11:32).

Ready, Set, Genesis!

[current book: Genesis]

Reading Genesis is such an adventure. Talk about some pretty major weirdness.

But also some pretty major beauty. I love, for example, the story of Isaac and Rebekah in Genesis 24. Go read it if you haven't—it's gorgeous. And, as a friend of mine pointed out recently, it's filled with pictures of Christ.

Check this out:

1. An unnamed servant travels in the authority of his master Abraham to a far-off country seeking a bride for his master's son (Gen. 24:3-4).
2. The servant discovers Rebekah, a spotless virgin (Gen. 24:15-16).
3. Through prayer, the servant recognizes that Rebekah is God's chosen bride (Gen. 24:12-14).
4. He marks her with jewelry (Gen. 24:22).
5. He stays in her home (Gen. 24:23).
6. He testifies about his master Abraham and his master's son Isaac (Gen. 24:34-49).
7. Based solely on the servant's testimony, Rebekah leaves everything behind to love a man she has never met (Gen. 24:58).
8. The servant insists they depart immediately (Gen. 24:56).
9. Isaac receives Rebekah, loves her, and marries her (Gen. 24:67).

In the same way (!):

1. Just as the unnamed servant was sent by his master to a bride in a far-off country, so the Holy Spirit, who is the most "anonymous" member of the Godhead, has been sent by the Father into the world, to the Church (Rev. 4:6, Jn. 14:26).
2. Just as Rebekah was a virgin, so is the Church (thanks to the cross) a spotless bride (Eph. 5:25, 31-32).
3. Just as God chose Rebekah, so he chose the Church (Eph. 1:4, Rom. 8:29-30).
4. Just as the servant marked Rebekah with jewelry, so the Spirit is a deposit marking believers (Eph. 1:13).
5. Just as the servant stayed in Rebekah's house, so the Spirit dwells in believers (1 Cor. 6:19).
6. Just as the servant testified about Abraham and his son, so the Spirit testifies about God and his son (Jn. 16:33, 1 Cor. 2:10-12).
7. Just as Rebekah abandoned everything for a husband she had never met, so Peter says of the Church, "though you have not seen him, you love him" (1 Pt. 1:8).
8. Just as the servant that insisted Rebekah leave immediately, so the Spirit does not let believers tarry in the world: Christ is all or nothing (Mt. 13:44-45).
9. Just as Isaac took Rebekah in and loved her, so Christ has made the Church his everlasting bride (Rom. 8:38-39).

Isn't that wild??

On a side note, I really want to be like Isaac. As Rebekah approaches Isaac's tents for the first time, Isaac is out in a field "meditating." This is hearsay, but I heard once that while there is debate concerning the exact meaning of the Hebrew word here translated "meditating," many scholars believe that it implies prayer.

I love that. Isaac, lost in prayer, seeking God and not a spouse, chances to glance upward and sees his bride. May all God's blessings come like that.

You Can't Understand the Bible. (And Neither Can I)

"But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all truth." —John 16:13

What a verse.

It reminds me of all the times growing up my mom would tease my dad about "looking with his nose." He'd be digging around in the refrigerator for a good half minute looking for something, only to have my mom yank it out for him right in front of his face. (In medical parlance, I'm told this phenomenon has been alternatively termed "Temporary Male Blindness.")

There is a similar ailment spiritually.

Assuming some literary acumen, it is eventually possible to sink into the subtleties of Shakespeare with a little rereading here and a little historical context there. Similarly, I am no scientist; but I remember in high school eventually coming to grips with the abstruse lingo and abstract concepts of my biology textbook through a cocktail of confusion and hard work.

Not so with Scripture. You (as in you, in all your human reasoning and fleshiness) cannot understand the Word of God.

Oh, sure, you can do scholarly footwork. You can dig into the Bible's genres, its literary devices, its cultural and historical context, even some of its profound themes and messages (the depravity of man, the importance of justice, the paschal power of love, etc.). Many theology classes I have taken discuss these very things, all of which are a good start for understanding the Bible.

But the soul of biblical truth can only be communicated by the Spirit of God, not by the mind of man. The Jews did not understand the Scriptures (Jn. 5:39) until Jesus opened the minds of a select handful to understand them (Lk. 24:45). And on the Emmaus road, it took what must have been the greatest sermon of all time for Jesus' two traveling companions to realize that their interpretation of the entire Bible was incomplete, since they were not interpreting Scripture in light of Christ.

No—we are told that we are taught by the Spirit (Jn. 16:13, Jn. 14:26). In fact, in 1 John, one sees that it is by his anointing that we do not need to be taught by anyone else (1 Jn. 2:27). And in 1 Corinthians 2, one sees that only the Spirit knows the thoughts of God, which in turn teaches us these very thoughts (1 Cor. 2:12).

Don't you dare read the Bible as merely a human document with human understanding. You will ineluctably miss the very heart of what God is trying to say. But if we abide in the Spirit and let him teach us, then the scales will fall from our eyes (Acts 9:18), the veil will be torn (2 Cor. 3:16), and we will see.

Incidentally, this is the reason why there are so many divergent interpretations of the Bible. It is why atheists like Dawkins and Hitchens can only see what in their eyes is God's cruelty, unlike us who "with unveiled faces" (2 Cor. 3:18) are bowled away by the mercy of the cross. I believe this happens among Christians, too, particularly in academia. Biblical scholarship is great. But scholarship can become a mask for respectability, and evaluating Scripture with spiritual eyes can be academic suicide.

So. Tomorrow. I start this crazy thing. May I be humble enough to let the Author of Scripture teach me Scripture. "Male blindness" like my dad's is temporary. Spiritual blindness can be eternal.

Why Scripture?

Beside me is a Bible. It's beat up. The spine is falling apart, there's tape down the cover, and a fair share of the Pentateuch (oddly in the neighborhood of Genesis 6-9) is water-damaged.

I don't read it as much as you think. I generally tote it around when I go places, hence the battle scars. But that's not to say I don't read it. I try to read it quite a bit. And I read it, knowing that many in my generation believe that the Bible is no more than a moralistic milkshake of homophobic sophistry and pithy peace proverbs.

But the Bible is so much more. It is, of course, a tool, a compass, a comforter, a sword, a friend. But if the Bible truly is invested with the Spirit (2 Tim. 3:16-17), this bruised and battered book beside me is a guide to the very heart of God.

So often I think we read the Bible as consumers. You want to know how to start a successful ministry, so you read Nehemiah. You want to buff up your Christian walk, so you flagellate yourself with James. You're having a crummy day, so you read Psalms. You're deciding whether to date, so you read 1 Corinthians 7.

I don't think there's anything wrong with that. The Bible is a blessedly practical book. But may my Bible be battered and broken because I have labored "with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me" (Col. 1:29) to suck from it every last scrap of Spirit-soaked truth of the knowledge of God. And may I, as I embark on this summer-long Scriptural marathon, be able to echo my favorite passage of Scripture: that "I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things" (Phil. 3:8).