Mixed emotions

You know that old joke about the definition of mixed emotions - 'seeing your mother-in-law drive off a cliff in your new Mercedes'? Well, here's another one: a Yorkshireman making a free offer and nobody - NOBODY AT ALL - taking him up on it...

Spurgeon and Prophecy

Phil Johnson, here, has a useful collection of Spurgeon stories. Spurgeon was undoubtedly a cessationist, and yet prepared, it seems, to see God at work in supernatural ways. I'm linking to this here primarily so that I can find it when I want it.

Separated at birth...?

Gary Brady

Mark King

Special Offer

Readers may like to know of a special offer, available only to you good folks. I'm selling copies of my three Day One publications at special rates: 'Why, Lord? (The book of Job for today)' for only £5 (normally£6.99) ; 'Revelation Revealed' (normally £7) also for only £5; buy both together and I'll not only send them post free, but include a free copy of 'Reach out for him' - a full-colour evangelistic booklet based on Acts 17.

A free offer - from a Yorkshireman. The age of miracles continues...

First post of the year

...from the days when comedians used to be funny

The virtue of consistency

For some very special friends...

...you know who you are!

Oh, no, Charlie Brown!

This, on Dan Phillips' blog, has to be worth a laugh

Brave? Nah!

Yet another celebrity (that I've never heard of) has come out as 'gay' and been lauded in the media as 'brave'.

No.

• There's nothing brave about marrying a woman when you know you prefer men.
• There's nothing brave about being unfaithful to her with men.
• There's nothing brave about taking solemn vows that you know you're not likely to be able to keep.
• There's nothing brave about telling your teammates when you know that if any of them express disapproval, warn you of the serious health consequences or even crack a joke they'll be visited by the police and accused of a hate crime.
• There's nothing brave about breaking your wife's heart.
• There's nothing brave about saying you've always been in love with her and are still in love with her when you plainly don't understand what it means.
• There's nothing brave about putting 'the way I want to live my life' above everybody else's hurt.
• There's nothing brave about treating sex as if it's the most powerful thing in life that cannot be resisted and somehow justifies whatever you want to do.

There are loads of brave men and women in our land today - men and women in marriages that are not all they hoped for, coping with stress they'd never expected, remaining faithful and working hard at what they have. They don't leave, they don't pout, they don't expect anyone to give them a medal. And no-one does: the BBC doesn't laud them for their bravery, they don't have articles written about them. And they don't hurt anyone by their selfishness. And there are others who bravely cope with betrayal from those they loved and should have been able to trust. They rebuild their lives; they seek new partners. They raise their children, refusing to teach them any bitterness towards the mum or dad who left. There are single men and women who are also sexual beings with powerful sex drives who yet practice long-term abstinence because they believe it to be right and proper and good.

They're brave - and this unknown blogger salutes them.

I wish Mr. Thomas well. And that means I wish him genuine repentance and faith in Christ - not because he's gay but because he's a sinner. I wish him to see how wrong his unfaithfulness and lying has been - not 'wrong to his sexuality' but wrong to his wife and to God. I wish him to see it not so that he can endure further years of torment (which is a strong word to describe 'not being able to have sex with who I want, or having to lie about it when I do', don't you think?) but because without seeing, and feeling, his wrong there's no hope for repentance and no hope for forgiveness. There is hope, for while 'neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who preacise homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God', the Scriptures can say 'And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.'

There's hope for all of us.

Olyott v. Luther, part 3.

Hmm -what a buzz my comments on the Banner of Truth article by Stuart Olyott have caused - though not half so big a buzz, I gather, as the article itself.

Look - here's where the rubber hits the road. The other Sunday one of the elders here prayed for me just before I went out to preach, like this: 'Lord, he's prepared the sermon. The altar is built, the sacrifice is made. But we need your fire to descend.' (The imagery, for any Biblically illiterate who read this blog, is taken from 1 Kings 18.) Now - was said elder right? Or was the altar and the sacrifice (the time spent in preparing the sermon and crafting it) enough?

Olyott v Luther, Part Two

Luther wrote:

I opposed indulgences and all papists, but never by force. I simply taught, preached, wrote God’s Word: otherwise I did nothing. And then, while I slept, or drank Wittenberg beer with my Philip of Amsdorf, the Word so greatly weakened the papacy that never a prince or emperor did such damage to it. I did nothing: the Word did it all. Had I wanted to start trouble… I could have started such a little game at Worms that even the emperor wouldn’t have been safe. But what would it have been? A mug’s game. I did nothing: I left it to the Word.

Olyott says he should have written:

I opposed indulgences and all papists, but never by force. I simply taught, preached, wrote God’s Word: otherwise I did nothing. And then, while I slept, or drank Wittenberg beer with my Philip of Amsdorf, God, working with his Word so greatly weakened the papacy that never a prince or emperor did such damage to it. I did nothing: God did it all. Had I wanted to start trouble… I could have started such a little game at Worms that even the emperor wouldn’t have been safe. But what would it have been? A mug’s game. I did nothing: I left it to the Lord, having pleaded with him to accompany his Word.

(Banner of Truth magazine, December 2009)

Olyott v Luther

In this month’s Banner of Truth, Stuart Olyott has a provocatively titled article: ‘Where Luther got it wrong – and why we need to know about it.’

Of course there are many places where Luther got it wrong, and some of them Banner wouldn’t write about (infant baptism, anybody?). But this is a different issue.

Famously, Luther wrote ‘I simply taught, preached, wrote God’s Word: otherwise I did nothing… I did nothing: the Word did it all.’

Not so, says Stuart: ‘The truth is that he did nothing and the Word, on its own, did nothing either. Yes, the Word, on its own, did nothing. When the gospel has success, we can’t write about it as Luther did.’

The error, says Stuart, is called ‘mediate regeneration’ and it ‘did terrible damage to the Lutheran movement’ and ‘is on the march once more…[and] has taken over vast sectors of British Evangelicalism…. If we don’t wake up, it will soon take us over completely. From then on, gospel work in this country will be ruined.’

Strong words. What on earth is he talking about? WHO is he talking about?

The error is this: ‘the Spirit, or the principle of new life, is shut up in the Word… Just sow the seed and people will get converted! If they don’t, it will be because they have persistently resisted the appeals of God’s Spirit coming to them through that word. His power is resident in the Word, but that power has been resisted. Where the gospel has little success, there is a human explanation.’

Stuart goes on to argue that the Holy Spirit does not Work through the word, but that (normally) his operation accompanies the Word; sometimes, however, he can work without the Word.

It is, I think, (some of) our Anglican brethren that Stuart has primarily in his sights, including the Proclamation Trust, though they are not mentioned. ‘The great emphasis among those of this mind-set is therefore on what they call ‘Word Ministry’.’ And what it leads to, among other things, is ‘Most British preachers study more than they pray.’

I can only speak for myself. I ‘came under the influence’ of the Proc Trust in the early 90s. They taught me a great deal about careful exegesis. About structuring sermons. About care to make sure that the sermon said what the text said. About using illustrations. About compelling introductions and conclusions. They're all good things.

I shuddered a bit when one of their star preachers (rightly much respected) told me that all-night prayer-meetings in Korean churches were a sign that they hadn’t shaken off Buddhism properly (!); but generally, I lapped up what I heard.

And gradually, ever so gradually, I began to realise that I was putting my confidence in the sermon: if I structured it right, exegeted the text right, illustrated it right – then that’s all that was necessary. Nice of you to show up, Holy Spirit – but we don’t need you thanks. We’ve got your Word.

And that’s not right. Is it?

Packer and Noah's Ark

Over at Helm's Deep, the always-instructive Paul Helm has begun to look at why Jim Packer is an Anglican, using Packer's own words whenever possible.

Both Packer and Helm make me want to ask 'Well, yes - but...', but the blog is definitely worth a read.

A question

Why are British ministers so depressed? So low? So negative? So sure nothing much is going to happen? It may not be true of all (I hope not); but it seems to be 'the general tone' amongst the Reformed.

It came home to me with some power when I was at a well-known ministers' conference earlier in the year. I asked one friend - young, at the beginning of his ministry - what he thought to the conference and as far as I remember his answer was 'It's great to be among so many men who are as depressed as I am!' He wasn't joking.

So perhaps it's Calvinism? Perhaps it has a depressing effect?

Hardly: Spurgeon suffered from depression triggered by gout, but was not by nature (or grace) an unhappy individual. Nor, for that matter, is Piper. Ah, Piper - yes, he's American.

In fact, reading 'Young, restless and reformed' suggested to me that it's only British Calvinists who're so miserable. Across the Pond, Calvinists have great conferences, joyous conferences, with thousands in attendance and a vision of the glory of God that virtually forbids misery. Nobody there would say 'It's great to meet so many depressed people.'

So - it's a serious question. Why are British Calvinistic ministers so depressed? And what can we do about it?

When forgiveness is wrong

The news today reports the tragic story of a teenage rapist - tragic, that is, for his victims. He raped a seven-year old boy and was tried. The seven-year old's parents - committed Christians - said at his trial that they forgave the boy and wanted his sentence to reflect that. He was given a three-year community order. Eight days later, he raped a five-year old boy whose father says the crime has destroyed the whole family.

We've become familiar with such stories of forgiveness, often the 'forgiveness' of terrorist attackers and often, if not usually, because the victims are Christians. It's hard not to admire the grace of those who offer forgiveness under such circumstances; harder still to criticise them.

But they're wrong. Scripure commands that we are to be perfect, as our Father in heaven is perfect. Does our Father in heaven forgive? Yes, of course. Who does he forgive? Those who repent, and only those who repent.

Sin, according to the Bible, must be punished. And it always is punished - either the sinner himself is punished in hell for all eternity, or the Saviour is punished in the sinner's place on Calvary's cross.

Crime, too, according to the Bible, should be punished: the state wields the sword (Romans 13:4) as God's representative for that very purpose. The state has no duty to forgive, and no right to forgive, either, as far as I can see.

When the well-meaning Christian mixes his 'forgiveness' with the weakness of the State in punishment, the innocent are bound to suffer. And the sufferer may only be five years old.

For more on forgiveness, from a truly Biblical perspective, see Chris Brauns' book 'Unpacking Forgiveness'.

She's arrived!

Announcing the safe arrival of Anna May Morris, 29.8.09. Anna means 'grace' and May means 'longed for child' - she's certainly that. We bless God.

Here's a picture, with joyous and beautiful Mum Joanne:

Historical (Biblical) Cessationism

The guys over at Team Pyro from time to time let it be known that they’re not all that enthusiastic about the charismatic movement, and this time Phil Johnson’s weighed in with a thoughtful piece on gullibility and faith. Inevitably, one of their correspondents came back with a quote from Spurgeon’s autobiography:

“While preaching in the hall, on one occasion, I deliberately pointed to a man in the midst of the crowd, and said, ‘There is a man sitting there, who is a shoemaker; he keeps his shop open on Sundays, it was open last Sabbath morning, he took ninepence, and there was fourpence profit out of it; his soul is sold to Satan for fourpence!’ A city missionary, when going his rounds, met with this man, and seeing that he was reading one of my sermons, he asked the question, ‘Do you know Mr. Spurgeon?’ ‘Yes,’ replied the man, ‘I have every reason to know him, I have been to hear him; and, under his preaching, by God’s grace I have become a new creature in Christ Jesus. Shall I tell you how it happened? I went to the Music Hall, and took my seat in the middle of the place; Mr. Spurgeon looked at me as if he knew me, and in his sermon he pointed to me, and told the congregation that I was a shoemaker, and that I kept my shop open on Sundays; and I did, sir. I should not have minded that; but he also said that I took ninepence the Sunday before, and that there was fourpence profit out of it. I did take ninepence that day, and fourpence was just the profit; but how he should know that, I could not tell. Then it struck me that it was God who had spoken to my soul through him, so I shut up my shop the next Sunday. At first, I was afraid to go again to hear him, lest he should tell the people more about me; but afterwards I went, and the Lord met with me, and saved my soul’… I could tell as many as a dozen similar cases in which I pointed at somebody in the hall without having the slightest knowledge of the person, or any idea that what I said was right, except that I believed I was moved by the Spirit to say it; and so striking has been my description, that the persons have gone away, and said to their friends, ‘Come, see a man that told me all things that ever I did; beyond a doubt, he must have been sent of God to my soul, or else he could not have described me so exactly.’ And not only so, but I have known many instances in which the thoughts of men have been revealed from the pulpit. I have sometimes seen persons nudge their neighbours with their elbow, because they had got a smart hit, and they have been heard to say, when they were going out, ‘The preacher told us just what we said to one another when we went in at the door’”.

I recognise the quote, and it’s authentic; though I haven’t checked its accuracy it is just as I remember it. And it’s as I remember it from the Banner of Truth edition of the autobiography.

That’s interesting, isn’t it? Banner of Truth – a cessationist publisher if ever there was one. They edited the biography before publishing it: why didn’t they remove this quote, if it promotes a charismatic understanding? Integrity, perhaps? That could be it; but surely a footnote would be in order then, to prevent misunderstanding? Yet there is none: why not? I think it’s because the story does not run contrary to Banner’s own cessationism; it certainly doesn’t run contrary to mine.

What the brother giving the quote doesn’t tell us – and he couldn’t, because he doesn’t believe it – is that Spurgeon was a cessationist. I’m not documenting it: if you’re interested, go look – reading Spurgeon is always worthwhile in its own right.

Historically, cessationism doesn’t mean that God never does anything remarkable, or even miraculous. Take a look at the Westminster Confession, chapter 5, paragraph 3:

God, in his ordinary providence, maketh use of means, yet is free to work without, above, and against them, at his pleasure.

What does that mean? God can ‘work without means’ or ‘above means’ or ‘against means’ if he chooses: he can work miracles. And note, not ‘he could, in days gone by’ but rather, in the present tense, ‘God… yet is free…’

Historic cessationists believe that. I don’t know if Phil and the team do, but I’d guess so.

What is cessationism?

It’s the belief that some, at least, of the miraculous gifts known in the early church were ‘signs of the apostles’ – 2 Corinthians 12:12. They were given to authenticate the ministry of the apostles; once the apostles had passed from the scene, there was no longer any need for such things, and they passed. We cessationists believe that in particular the gifts of tongues and of prophecy were temporary, and also believe that the New Testament itself indicates that this would be the case. It's the historic view of the church: cessationists may be in a minority now, but that's purely a recent phenomenon.

Do we pray for healing, even miraculous healing? Yes, and some of us have stories to tell. Those stories don't threaten our cessationism. But we are not impressed by the dishonest claims of many present-day ‘healers’, nor, generally, by the naïve claims of many sincere brethren. We’ve discovered, all too often, that when careful investigation is made, the evidence isn’t there.

Evolution

I became an evolutionist last week. I can't help it - sorry. The logic is so compelling.

See, I was watching this program on Channel 4 where they autopsied some kind of giant whale. And Richard Dawkins explained with such charm how it got to be the way it is. Here it is - at the moment.

The way it happened, said Richard, is that having come out of the sea and with a great deal of difficulty adapted itself to the land, it decided to go back into the sea. But the fur it had evolved on the land isn't a very good insulator in deep water, so it (or rather, they) swapped the fur for blubber. That's what he said. Swapped it.

And that did it for us. Suddenly, a mental picture formed of all these great bear-like creatures lining up to swap their fur for blubber, and everything slotted into place. It's so obvious. Light dawned. Let there be ligh -- oh, no, sorry; that's the Other Side. The penny dropped. It really did happen.

Yeah, right.

On the other hand....

Not all philosophers are the same, of course - any more than all preachers, or all theologians. You'll find here the beginnings of Paul Helm on why Wright is wrong. Good stuff.

The Trouble with Philosophers

Partly because of a debate elsewhere on the blogosphere, I've started to re-read Bryan Magee's fascinating 'Confessions of a Philosopher'. Here's a passage that I think says something about 'the trouble with philosophers':

All the problems that plagued me were questions about the situation in which I immediately found myself. Some of them were questions about me, some were questions about the world around me, but all of them were practical questions, which is to say questions about how things are, to which something or other had to constitute a true answer, or so it seemed to me. To none of these questions would the existence of God have constituted an answer, and I never felt any inclination, no matter as how young a child, to believe in one. There is a story that G.E. Moore, when asked why he had never addressed himself to questions about God, replied that he had never seen any reason for taking such questions seriously, and the same applied in those days to me. The postulation of a God seemed to me a cop-out, a refusal to take serious problems seriously; a facile, groundless and above all evasive response to deeply distrubing difficulties: it welcomed the self-comforting delusion that we know what we do not know, and have answers that we do not have, thereby denying the true mysteriousness, indeed miraculousness, of what is...'

Well, where do we start? We could notice that he is, at the time, between nine and twelve years old, and since he was 'in a family in which religion was never mentioned', a little humility about the possibility of having missed something might be a good thing.

But look how he sees the existence of God: a theoretical thing, that might answer some problem, or be a cop-out as far as answers to the problems are concerned. He's missing completely the possibility that God might be an objective reality - and that, if he is, it's probably wise to know it. He thinks he's answering life's problems; or at least looking for them. But he's ignoring the elephant in the room because in his opinion it's no help at all. Sadly, Magee goes on to speak of the daily terror that his philosophic speculations brought: 'From that day on I wrestled with demons for at least a part of every day of my life...'

That's the trouble with philosophers - well, some of them. They think they're dealing with the big things and all they're doing is ignoring the big things in favour of academic games...