What Jesus Learned

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

The book of Hebrews is not standard Christmastime reading. But I was struck by the Advent relevance of these verses from Hebrews 5:8-9: “Although he was the son, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and after he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation to all those who obey him.”

It is easy for us to become functional Docetists, who imagine that Jesus only seemed to become human – after all, he is who God is, so how could he get mixed up with us? We might somewhat grudgingly concede that his incarnation is necessary for him to be a sacrifice for sins (a point Hebrews is also at pains to make in a later chapter), but does it really make a difference in who he is?

The answer of Hebrews is a resounding Yes. This portion of the book focuses on Jesus’ role as high priest. In order to be a faithful high priest, the author reasons, Jesus has to be able to sympathize with the people. He cannot do this if he has not experienced the same things they have experienced. And so he states quite carefully that Jesus learned obedience. This does not mean, of course, that Jesus had to “learn to be obedient” in the way we do – by combatting our inveterate tendency to disobey. But it does mean that he needed to experience suffering and temptation first-hand to qualify as a high priest. How else could he genuinely relate to us as we struggle in this world day by day?

Verse 9 makes the same point in equally expressive language – Jesus’ sufferings “perfected” him. In a sense, Jesus was already perfect – but with respect to being qualified as our high priest, he needed those sufferings to complete him for the job.

It is difficult to know what is more marvelous here: the astounding theological truth that the incarnation is absolutely integral to Jesus’ role as high priest, or the unspeakably powerful comfort it is to know that Jesus really does understand what we are going through even in the darkest times. As we strive to maintain our faith-filled obedience in this world (remember, he is the source of salvation to those who obey him, v.9), it is a blessing to know that he himself has learned obedience through his sufferings, and thus can be trusted to help us stay faithful no matter what the circumstances might be. And because he saw his task through to the end – been “ perfected”-- he can help us as we struggle towards maturity in our lives [the same root lies behind Jesus’ “perfection” in v.9 and the call to Christian maturity in v.14].

The blessings of Christmas, then, certainly do not end in the manger, nor do they even end at the cross. What Jesus learned on earth is a source of continuing comfort, as we bring our troubles day by day to our sympathetic friend and priest.

The Manger Still Provides Food (for Thought)

By Roy Ciampa, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

We have just entered into the Advent season but since I am not likely to be posting again before Christmas I can’t resist taking this opportunity to post some thoughts on Luke 2:1-20. It is one of my favorite Christmas passages, one that some of you will be preaching on in the coming days.

I think it is important to pay close attention to the one item that appears in each of the three different scenes in the story – the baby lying in the manger – and how that image communicates something different in each of the scenes. The angel’s announcement about Christ is central, of course, including the fact that the angel attributes to Christ things that Roman propaganda had falsely attributed to Caesar Augustus (that he, rather than Augustus, is the true savior whose birth is good news for all).

It is important, I think, to notice the differences between the three scenes. Most Christmas cards blend together items from very different scenes so that we see Joseph and Mary bending over the manger with a bright star or some other indication of God’s glory shining all around. But the passage has no glory shining by the manger. In vv. 1-7 we find no mention of God or angels or glory or anything of the sort. Just a couple who have to make an onerous trip because of a decree given by the Roman emperor. It is in the second scene that we find angelic announcements and glory, but that takes place in the hills outside of town, and is not something experienced by Joseph and Mary by the manger but by shepherds who will tell the story to them in the third and final scene (vv. 16-20).

In some ways Joseph and Mary’s experience in Luke 2:1-20 is similar to much of our experience as we wait between the first and second advents of Christ. We have been told of Christ’s glory and of what God is doing in the world through him, and we have heard the rumors of angels, and we have heard what they have announced and promised about Christ, but we do not get to live our lives out in the presence of observable glory. We know God is at work and will bring the story of redemption to its completion, but much of our lives is lived in contexts where those realities are no more apparent to us than they would have been to Joseph and Mary as they wrapped up their newborn baby and placed him in that manger. But now that manger serves as one more sign from God to us that he is in fact the Messiah, Christ the Lord, whose birth is good news of great joy for all the people.

In verses 1-7 Joseph, Mary and Jesus seemed to be the least important people in all of Judea. Caesar and Quirinius seemed to be the people who mattered – the real movers and shakers of the world. But by the time we finish the passage we know (along with Joseph, Mary and the shepherds) that things are not as they seem, that although God was not manifestly present his angels were able to describe the opening scene down to its smallest and most unlikely detail(s), and that little “insignificant” baby in the manger is in fact the key to redemption and renewal of the world. The placing of a baby in a manger may have been an almost pitiful image in the first scene, but it is a wonderful sign of God’s redeeming presence and key to Christ’s identity in the second scene and then a confirmation to Joseph and Mary (as well as the shepherds) of God’s faithfulness to them and to his promises to send a savior when in the final scene the people from the second scene (the shepherds) share their experience with those from the first scene (Joseph and Mary). The birth of Christ and all that it means continues to amaze us, to be pondered in our hearts, and to lead us to praise and glorify God for all he has done in sending his Son to be our Savior and Lord (vv. 18-20).

The Great Reversal

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

What a strange, perplexing moment it was. It was that moment a few years ago, before both my parents passed away, when I realized that my brothers and I were taking on a parental role for our mom and dad. Wordsworth and Coleridge called the phenomenon “return to childhood.” Caught by the inevitable vulnerabilities of their own mortality, my parents needed the almost identical care and control that they gave us in the first years of our lives, all the way down to those uncomfortable moments when we had to take away their keys from driving, and help them with their basic bodily care and functions, and when we took over the management of the basic decisions in their living.

It doesn’t take much to find these dramatic changes everywhere we look. We find it in the natural world every day at dusk and dawn, when the moon takes over the mastery of the sky from the sun, and visa versa. Or, how about on a socio-political level: Parse what must have been some uncomfortable moments in the 18^th and early 19^th centuries when we, as Americans, and our native motherland, England, had to gradually adjust our thinking about our mutual roles in the world. Who is the world power now? The great reversals in life!

Several of us, I think, saw the beginnings of yet another “great reversal” a couple of weeks ago at Cape Town. I had the privilege, along with several others from Gordon-Conwell, to participate at the Lausanne Congress: About 5,000 individuals coming from 198 nations from the world, all in one great room; what an amazing experience! One of the conversations on the second day involved a panel of African Anglican bishops and the newly created Anglican archbishop of the United States. In great humility, Archbishop Duncan, from Pittsburgh, thanked the African Anglican bishops for taking the lead in formulating the new Anglican structures for the West. What an amazing thing to behold these past years, as Christians from the West have come under the authority and direction of the Majority World church.

My sense is that what has been happening in the Anglican church in the past ten or so years is at the forefront of what we will see throughout the global missions movement in the future. Unreached people group?: We are used to talking about nations and indigenous tribes in Africa and parts of Asia in these terms. But, what about Denmark and Germany and France and parts of the United States even as being identified as unreached peoples groups? Already we see the equilibrium of the global missions movement shifting as we find missionaries from the Church in China and Korea and parts of Africa at our very doorsteps, spreading the Gospel to us Westerners. Thanks be to God; the Great Reversal has begun!

Pain, and Glass, and Beauty

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

It may seem strange to find beauty in an obituary, and stranger still when the subject of the obituary is virtually unknown. But there is much of it to be found in the Economist’s heartbreaking tribute to the stained glass artist Michael Lassen, who died in a fall from Durham Cathedral in September (http://www.economist.com/node/17199498?story_id=17199498). I will do little more here than note the most salient points, and implore you to read it in its entirety.

Lassen had been working on the Transfiguration of Christ in the south quire at the time of accident. The obituary describes his fall:

He was fitting a small panel at the bottom left-hand side, a pane of bruised blue glass that showed the broken and suffering about to be transformed by light, almost the last piece in the window, when he fell. He was not particularly high up, working at the ledge. But stone flags are unforgiving.

We see there a hint of the poignant match of the man, and the moment, and the message that was to come fully to light a few weeks later:

But when September 25th came, the day of dedication, he was remembered in a different way. The clue lay in George Herbert’s poem “The Windows” which was sung as an anthem at evensong. Man was “a brittle crazy glass”:
Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford This glorious and transcendent place To be a window, through thy grace.
As the congregation pressed through afterwards into the south quire aisle they found the windows still wreathed in incense, like the cloud of God that had enveloped Jesus on the mountain. Through it shone the glass. Its golds and blues were smoky in the evening light, but the central column blazed white, like the transfiguration of a man; and of all men, named or un-named, whose lives and skills are embedded in the stone and glass of great cathedrals.

A Glimpse into Jesus’ Hermeneutic

By Roy Ciampa, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

One of my growing passions over the past few years has been to address the scandal of the use of the Scriptures for the support or promotion of oppression, injustice and the abuse of power in the world. I have commented on this in several previous posts (see, e.g., this post on Fredrick Douglas and this post on confronting the Bible’s “double life”).

I was reminded of this theme again (as it seems I almost always am when reading Scripture!) when I was reading Mark 3 just the other day. It offers a sharp comparison between Jesus’ own hermeneutic and that of some of the scribes and Pharisees of his day:

Mark 3:1-6 (NRSV): ¹Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there who had a withered hand. ² They watched him to see whether he would cure him on the sabbath, so that they might accuse him. ³ And he said to the man who had the withered hand, "Come forward." ⁴ Then he said to them, "Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?" But they were silent. ⁵ He looked around at them with anger; he was grieved at their hardness of heart and said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." He stretched it out, and his hand was restored. ⁶ The Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.

Those Pharisees wanted to use the Scriptures as grounds for marginalizing (or doing worse to) those who disagree with or differ from them. A cure on the Sabbath would be a good thing, since it would allow them to condemn Jesus. They were not concerned about the man with a withered hand. He may be useful to them. They are interpreting the Scriptures literally, woodenly and in a way that fits their ideological interests.

Why does Jesus ask about whether it is lawful to do good or harm to save life or kill on the Sabbath? Because he seems to be interpreting the Scriptures in light of the two great commandments – love of God and love of neighbor (which is a proper manifestation of true love for God).

Jesus’ anger relates to the hardness of heart and the fact that their interpretation of Scripture was not guided by the same love for people and fundamental commitment to their wellbeing that mark the God who revealed himself to his people through the Scriptures in the first place.

Upon seeing the remarkable way Jesus loves his neighbor and interprets the law of the Sabbath in a way that rejects the idea that it should be understood to prohibit doing good to others or saving others those (particular) Pharisees decide he must be destroyed.

For too long much of the Christian church (and perhaps my/our evangelical wing in particular) has been content to think that it was merely responsible for reading the scriptures and doing what they say, and the consequences or implications for others were beyond our responsibilities. So abused wives were told to stay home and simply do a better job of submitting to their husbands. And slavery was defended as being condoned by the Scriptures. And Jews in general (and of every generation) could be condemned based on what John the Baptist and Jesus had to say about some of the hostile Jews that they had encountered (despite my love of Martin Luther, it must be admitted that some of his statements about the Jews, in which some biblical statements are applied globally to all Jews as a people, are blood curdling and had a horribly regretful impact on some Christian attitudes towards Jews for many centuries).

We thought we were good at recognizing hard-heartedness in others, but were abysmally weak in recognizing our own hard-heartedness and that of our own leaders and peers. We are now at a stage of history when the rest of the world is fully aware of some of the areas in which the Christian church has failed to reflect true love of neighbor in its interpretation of Scripture, and of ways in which those who brought the message of the gospel, and translated the Scriptures, also communicated harmful cultural prejudices and ideological interests despite their good intensions.

Again, it is easiest to see how other people in other places and other times may have fallen short in this area. What I need, and perhaps we all need, is for God to help me/us see the extent to which I continue to be blind to the ways in which my own interpretations of Scripture are informed by my own interests or the interests of my own kind of people. What could tear at the hearts of Christian people who love the Bible more than knowing that the revelation intended to bring light and life to people’s lives is being or might be used in ways that do harm rather than good to others? May God give ever greater wisdom so that people’s use of and engagement with Scripture become ever more consistent with both the love of God and the truest love of our neighbors, for the sake of Christ, who was willing to give his own life so that others might find freedom, life and the righteousness and justice of His kingdom and reign. May we learn to interpret God’s word as Jesus did, with a concern to make sure it is only used to do people good, and never harm…

Falling in Love

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

Let’s call her Martha Kavinski. She was my first secretary at the first church I served as pastor just out of seminary. When they invented New Englanders, they carved her in New Hampshire granite and pointed to her thereafter as the model for the rest of us. She was tough as nails, she was utterly undiplomatic, and most of all, she did not like me. She met me at the stairways leading up to my office at the church on my first day, and right then and there, I felt like a first grader on the first day of class looking up at raw authority.

It did not take me long to realize that Martha was not the only one not immediately enthralled with my presence. The congregation was peppered with individuals who had been at the church a long, long time, and they wanted to make it clear to me early on that life had gone on reasonably well before I arrived and probably would go on just as well after I departed.

My experience, I am sure, is not unusual to most of you in ministry. Although my first years were not a disaster, they were not easy. Who would have thought that moving the church library to a more public location so that it actually could be used by the children of the congregation would provoke three meetings and an act of the full board of the church?

In hindsight, perhaps the only thing that saved me was what many would consider a grave liability on my part. I entered into the world of this three hundred year old church without a clear set of ambitions for the congregation. Perhaps too naïve for a clear plan, I fell back on something far more basic: Gradually, unconsciously, seemingly against my will, I found that I began to fall in love with this congregation, Martha and all.

In working with students and young pastors these past years at the seminary, I have noticed a growing trend that hints at good news and bad news. Perhaps buoyed by a cottage industry of church resources, pastors are entering their ministries with a growing awareness of the envisioning process required for healthy congregational life. That’s the good news. The bad news is that often time these well-intended visions of what a congregation should become comes with airtight, tone-death agendas.

A look at these agenda-driven processes from the inside looking out bears reflection. As a person who is now facing his mid-fifties, I can more readily fit into the skin of the long-time parishioner who has committed years of labor and well-intended, if often misguided, leadership in a church. The parishioner’s kids may have been born and nurtured in the church; he or she may have helped to develop and taken ownership of a program that at one time clearly met the needs of the congregation; he or she may have spent countless Saturday mornings toiling over the church lawn.

What does that parishioner see and feel when a pastor enters into the life of a church with a satchel full of good ideas on how his or her church needs to change. Change the worship service. Eliminate the hymnal. Get rid of a timeworn program. Re-organize the committee structure of the church. No doubt many of these things might benefit the church greatly and might be essential for new growth, both spiritually and numerically. But, on the face of it, what do these things say to those who, apparently, are in need of change?

I am convinced that churches are less in need of pastors’ well-designed agendas than their love. Falling in love with a congregation is an amazing legacy to give to a church. The measure of that love, like marriage, involves loving churches exactly as they are, with all their imperfections, before seeking more of them.

Martha died at 75 and I count one of the high moments of my ministry at that church the eulogizing of her at her funeral. We became fast friends in Christ. In the end, she saw what I saw in the subsequent six years of our ministry together. That creaky old church grew ten fold. I am convinced it changed and grew in large measure because the congregation genuinely felt loved by its pastoral staff. It is amazing what love can do when love comes without strings attached.

Should we have children?

By Maria Boccia, PhD
Professor of Pastoral Counseling and Psychology
Director of Graduate Programs in Counseling Charlotte campus

I have a friend who wants to have children. She is in the midst of deep conversation over this. Her husband says he does not want children - he says it will be like a death sentence to have a child. How do they decide? What factors go into the decision to have a child?

Peter Singer, chair of the Department of Philosophy at Princeton University, recently stirred up quite a bit of emotion with his blog “Should This Be the Last Generation?” (See http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/06/06/should-this-be-the-last-generation/). He presents the arguments of another philosopher who basically says, we should stop reproducing because it is better to have never existed than to have lived this life which has so much pain and suffering.

Let me repeat that: It is better to have never existed than to have lived because there is so much pain and suffering. The fleeting happiness we do experience is not worth the living of a life.

Singer is a utilitarian philosopher. He claims not to be a classic utilitarian philosopher because it’s not just about how much happiness he accrues. Rather his utilitarianism is one that asks what action creates the greatest good for all sentient beings, with the least harm. However, at bottom, “because it makes me happy” is basically why he says ‘yes’ - his children and grandchildren make him happy. They lead relatively happy lives.

Chuck Colson, member of the board of trustees of GCTS, wrote a column in the August edition of Christianity Today, “The Lost Art of Commitment.” Colson is commenting on the radical individualism of our culture that defines meaning in terms of personal happiness. Since the 1960s and 70s, a new generation has arisen that does not make commitments. That generation includes many who have no sense of community or social obligation, who live in a world perceived as lacking meaning. Colson cites Robert Bella as calling this “‘ontological individualism,’ the belief that the individual is the only source of meaning.” But Colson notes, instead, that life’s meaning is really found in relationship - with God and with each other, and this requires commitment. He writes, in exact opposition to what Peter Singer asserts, that “by abandoning commitment, our narcissistic culture has lost the one thing it desperately seeks: happiness. Without commitment, our individual lives will be barren and sterile. Without commitment, our lives with lack meaning and purpose. After all, if nothing is worth dying for . . . then nothing is worth living for” (emphasis added).

“Whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (I Cor 10:31). If God is our source of meaning, then this is the reason for our choices. To have children is an act of faith that God is still on his throne and sovereign over all creation. To have children is an act of hope that God is still watching and caring, and redeeming the world. To have children is an act of love that God has made the two one flesh and blessed that union.

This does not make our lives easier or simpler, or give us any guarantees. I don’t know what my friends will decide about children. I pray for them as they wrestle through their decision. It is painful to watch them struggle with this decision. I myself do not have children, not by choice. But since my life is about glorifying God, not my personal happiness, then I believe my childlessness is a part of his plan for me. Sometimes, this means I hold on to “God is sovereign and God is good” and look for his meaning in this. I cling to the Scripture that says all things work together for good to those who love God, who are called according to his purpose, even if I can’t understand how right now. Jesus showed us that we are worth dying for, and that makes our lives worth living. Period. So, should we have children? That decision, as all decisions for us as children of God, should flow out of this truth, rather than some individualistic computation of personal happiness. “You are worthy, O Lord our God, to receive glory and honor and power. For you created all things, and they exist because you created what you pleased.” (Rev 4:11, NLT).

A Clod, and Unknowing

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

I went into the Montreal Museum of Modern Art (more properly le Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal) in a positive frame of mind. Sure, some of the pieces might be perplexing, and at times I might wonder whether the proverbial roomful of monkeys (armed with brushes rather than typewriters) might produce a more interesting product, but there could be some very interesting stuff in there as well. Entry that evening was free, so I figured I did not have much to lose.

The results were mixed. At the risk of revealing myself as a bourgeois clod, I found much of the material rather pointless. A hanging video monitor shows a woman’s face; the colors change every so often. That was pretty much it, but from the description on the wall (I will spare you the tortured postmodern prose) you would think she had precipitated a quantum leap in human consciousness. It is bad enough to look at a piece and think, “I could have done this.” It’s worse when your next thought is, “But why would I want to?” Tedium and self-indulgence hung over most of the exhibits.

But not all. The highlight was an extended look at the works of the Québécois artist Paul-Émile Borduas. It was encouraging to see from his early works that Borduas was fully capable of doing what many of us would consider art: representation of natural scenes, still-lifes, and so on. I suppose most of the artists on display in the museum have similar talents. But without the evidence on display in front of you, there is always the lingering suspicion that some of them really might be talentless hacks bluffing their way to fame. There was no such concern with Borduas.

This naturally gave me a more sympathetic approach to his later, more abstract works. He had clearly done these pieces for a reason. The most striking of his later works was Translucidité. You can view the picture here (http://amica.davidrumsey.com/luna/servlet/detail/AMICO~1~1~96423~220818:Translucidit%C3%A9?qvq=w4s:/what/Paintings/Huile+sur+toile/;lc:AMICO~1~1&mi=30&trs=229), though the image does not capture the intense textures of the work, the violent ridges of white paint that cut into the colored portions. I loved looking at it.

As for what it means, that of course is almost entirely subjective. But I saw it as a painting trying to struggle out from behind a white cloud of unknowing – a cloud that not only obscured whatever was back there, but twisted it as well, so that only the slightest hint of the “original” painting could be glimpsed.

As such, it struck me as a moving metaphor for what life is often like: for the ideas we can’t quite express, the relationships we don’t quite understand, the ambitions we can’t quite realize. As Christians, we may believe in Absolute Truth. But that hardly means we know that Truth absolutely, nor that we can adequately express what we do know. Is this postmodernism? I don’t think so, since it was the apostle Paul himself who said that in this present age we see through a glass dimly. Borduas helps us to at least see that truth clearly, and beautifully.

The Centre for Public Christianity: Communicating Christian Perspectives in Clear and Compelling Ways

By Roy Ciampa, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

I’m writing this from Sydney, Australia, where I will be participating in the Moore Theological College conference on “The Wisdom of the Cross: Exploring 1 Corinthians.” Today, however, I had the special treat of going to the offices and studio of the Centre for Public Christianity (also known here as CPX) here in Sydney, where they interviewed me on the topics of Paul’s approach to sexual ethics in 1 Corinthians and on issues in Bible translation. For the former topic we did a longer audio interview to be posted as a pod-cast (and possibly a radio bit) and a shorter video interview to be posted online. On the subject of Bible translation we just did a couple of video pieces.

I must say I am very impressed with the work of CPX. They have put together quite nice library of audio, video and print pieces on a wide range of topics of interest to Christians and non-Christians alike. Their key categories are Christianity, Society & Politics, The arts, World Religions, Science & Religion, Ethics, History, and Big Questions.

The folks at CPX are an impressive and gifted group who are committed to articulating the Christian worldview and its implications in a way that is clear and (hopefully) compelling to modern listeners of various stripes. And for their efforts they have gained a reputation with some key media outlets here in Australia as being the key go-to people for getting the/a contemporary Christian perspective on whatever issue comes to their attention.

I encourage you to take a look at the resources available through CPX and to think about how they might be used in your ministry context, and how they might serve as a model for our own challenges in reflecting upon and communicating the implications of the gospel message for the issues of our days.

I think we need a ministry like CPX in North America. In the meantime I give thanks for the example they have set for the rest of us!

Rifles against Armored Tanks

By Maria Boccia, PhD
Professor of Pastoral Counseling and Psychology
Director of Graduate Programs in Counseling Charlotte campus

This summer, I taught Research Methods and Design to counseling students. I love teaching this course. One reason, of course, is that I spent several decades of my life in full-time research and I enjoy thinking about research methodology and sharing it with others. The other reason I love teaching this course, however, is the obvious impact that it has on students. Every semester, one (if not more) student tells me how taking this course has affected them: “I used to just read articles and believe what they said, but now I find myself asking ‘Is this true? How do they know? Was this a well-designed study?’” That encompasses my goals for the students in this course: to learn to think critically and read analytically.

Recently, I have been reading Creed Without Chaos: Exploring Theology in the Writings of Dorothy L. Sayers by Laura Simmons. Dorothy Sayers is one of my favorite authors. In a chapter on Sayers’ theology of language, Simmons quotes from a book I have not read, The Lost Tools of Learning, which speaks to Sayers’ thoughts on education and propaganda. This book was written in 1948, and Sayers was very mindful of propaganda and its effects during World War II, and was concerned about the implications for the future of society. She wrote:

For we let our young men and women go out unarmed, in a day when armour was never so necessary. By teaching them all to read, we have left them at the mercy of the printed word. By the invention of the film and the radio, we have made certain that no aversion to reading shall secure them from the incessant battery of words, words, words. They do not know what the words mean; they do not know how to ward them off or blunt their edge or fling them back; they are prey to words in their emotions instead of being the masters of them in their intellects. We who were scandalized in 1940 when men were sent to fight armoured tanks with rifles, are not scandalized when young men and women are sent into the world to fight massed propaganda with a smattering of “subjects”; and when whole classes and whole nations become hypnotized by the arts of the spellbinder, we have the impudence to be astonished.

I find this to be a remarkable observation. It has been my earnest desire for Christians to have a well-developed, self-conscious theology and worldview, and to be able to “always be ready to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give an account of the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15). Dorothy Sayers point is well taken: in order to resist the distortions with which we are constantly bombarded in the media, as well as to be able to present a winsome argument for our faith, we must be able to reason well, think critically, and craft our words effectively. This is not something with which we are born or develop merely because we acquire language. This takes effort, study, and sometimes struggling to understand and analyze an argument.

When my students begin the Research Methods and Design course, they are generally not happy with the prospect of reading all those research articles I assign, and trying to critique them to my satisfaction. Inevitably, however, by the end of the course, they are excited about their new capacities to think critically and analyze what they read. This is my gift to them: they are not facing armored tanks with rifles anymore. They have armored tanks of their own. My prayer is that we all are concerned to develop the critical thinking skills we need to not only resist the bombardment but also to mount a positive argument for our faith in the One who is called the Word of God.

Whining Through the Ages

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

Let me whine for a while. I think I’ve reached that moment similar to when I have played a favorite song one too many times. You know the kind of song I am talking about; the song with the lyric, the melody line, the refrain that perfectly encapsules some part of your life…perfectly. And, you make the fateful, if understandable, mistake of playing it one too many times. Now crushed by the weight of redundancy, the song loses its meaning. When does a cliché become a cliché?

This is what I feel about the current language describing Generation theory. No longer is it enough to call ourselves Christians, human beings for that matter. The current climate has us all corralled into increasingly-smaller holding pens called Gen X, Y, Z, post X, Y, Z, the emerging X, Y, Z.

It is not that Generation theory hasn’t been a helpful paradigm, even truthful to a point. The simple reality that cultural values shift through time from one generation to the next is so self-evident it is hard to conceive that it has only been in recent years that the idea has taken root in our national consciousness.

But, have we not pulled the thin strands that hold this concept together almost beyond the breaking point? How many churches have I observed in recent years being completely re-engineered on the basis of this concept alone? Worship services, small group ministries, evangelism, outreach, teaching: Every aspect of church-life has been filtered through the generational lens. Pastors now look upon their congregations as if they are filled with generational subspecies roaming across the Serengeti. Each subspecies—Gen X, Y, or Z--thinks differently, speaks a different language, and responds to God differently in the most fundamental of ways.

Not long ago, I met with the leadership of a national para-Church organization on behalf of the seminary and I made the fateful mistake of questioning the veracity of Generational theory. The silence around that table of leaders was deafening. For a moment, I thought perhaps I had questioned the Resurrection.

Part of what drives my passion on this issue is personal and results from my own work in my doctoral work on assessing the empirical research on religious conversion. Fifteen years ago, if anyone would have questioned the truthfulness of brainwashing or deprivation theories as singular explanations for how individuals change religious commitments, they would have been laughed off the stage. Not so today. We have moved well beyond these explanations to others. Similarly, the surrounding orthodoxy around Generational theory is equally vulnerable to change. To speak of it as a concept is not so much to diminish its usefulness as to caution us of its limitation. How much now rides on this conceptualization in your church?

I think one of the most dangerous implications of our over-dependence upon Generational theory is that it so causes us to focus upon the differences in individuals within our churches at the expense of what unites us together. My twenty-some-year old son wears his pants a little lower than I do. He uses vocabulary at times that sends me scurrying for further explanation. He enjoys different forms of music. But, when I look deep into his eyes, when we talk about what touches us most intimately, when we speak about God, and our family, and our mutual traditions, we are the same species.

Further, we share the same Gospel. The things that both of us look for in Christian community—authenticity, honesty, winsomeness—are the same. Exactly the same. The similarities far outweigh the differences, and the current focus on what makes us so different prevent us—prevent us as a church—from focusing on the most important things, that which binds us together in Christ. The huge amounts of time spent on fine tuning our churches into parts has become a grand diversion from what really, really matters.

I’m done whining now.

De-centered

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

There is no gravitational pull quite so strong as that exerted by the human imagination.

And I don’t mean that in a good way.

The sun may hold eight planets in its sway (or nine, depending on what they are saying about poor Pluto this week), but my mind can bring the entire cosmos into its orbit. The universe swirl around Me, and each thing in it grows or shrinks in significance depending on how it shapes my town and my job and my family. It’s an absurdity, of course, but it is an absurdity that plays itself out each day of our lives.

I was reminded of this recently when I made my first trip to Hong Kong. The city was a wonder, with buildings stacked upon buildings like the playroom of a Lego-mad millionaire. The biggest building in town, the recently completed International Commerce Center (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Commerce_Centre), stands at the edge of Victoria Harbour and virtually cries out, “Yes, we’re going to build. We’re going to build big buildings, and we’re going to build one after another after another and dare anybody to stop us.” As if the scope and scale were not enough, every night a dozen or so of these skyscrapers on Hong Kong Island light up with a soundtrack booming in the background. You can see it all from the Avenue of the Stars, Hong Kong’s answer to the sidewalk outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater. (I got my picture by Jackie Chan’s handprints, though the Bruce Lee statue is the more popular venue.)

But the buildings weren’t the only impressive thing about the city. The subway was clean and efficient, the streets safe, the opportunities for shopping and eating endless. More surprising was the natural beauty of the place. The crowded and touristy Peak Tram on Hong Kong island quickly gives way to a stunning walk around the Peak for the moderately adventurous, and I had the Sunset Peak trail on Lantau all to myself the last day of my trip. The volcanoes may have stopped spewing fire long ago, but they are still in the business of providing spectacular views.

As I reflected on all this, it struck me how even on my most “selfless” days, I still assume that the world essentially revolves if not around me, at least around eastern Massachusetts where I live…or at least the Eastern Corridor from Boston to DC. Yet a visitor from Hong Kong must find Boston a quaint little city, or maybe even a provincial village – a few good schools, yes; at least one very nice modern building (the Hancock Tower), a pleasant river, with some nice scenery around if you have a car and a few hours to spare. But the Hub of the Universe? Not hardly.

It was a blessing to be de-centered in this way. The practical implications for thinking about the mission of the church in the modern world are obvious: you don’t need Philip Jenkins to tell you the church is no longer a Western cultural phenomenon (if it ever really was one to begin with). A bit of vacation time and a plane ticket can open your eyes soon enough. And the theological implications are equally clear. We are not at the center of things, whatever our addled brains might tell us. The center does not lie in me, or in Boston, or even in splendid Hong Kong. The center is ever and only the throne of God: “Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, singing: ‘To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!’” (Rev. 5:13).

Misty Water-Colored and Other Types of Memories

By Roy Ciampa, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

When I was an infant I swallowed an open safety pin. It slid down my throat and made its way into my stomach. Through surgery the doctor cut into my stomach and removed it. The size of the scar on my stomach when I was an infant was quite small. But over the years that scar has grown larger, so that it is now about six inches long. Emotional scars can grow larger over time as well.

Only recently have I discovered Miroslav Volf’s book, The End of Memory: Remembering Rightly in a Violent World (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2006). I highly recommend this book for anyone involved in pastoral or other kinds of counseling. In the book he explores the intersection between memory and identity – the extent to which our identities are formed by our memories and the extent to which we shape our memories so that they do not consist of raw objective experiential data:

[W]hat exactly is the relationship between memory and identity? Let’s accept for the moment that we are to a significant degree what we and others remember about us. Don’t we remember about ourselves many intensely discordant actions, feelings, and experiences – betrayals and fidelity, pain and delight, hatred and love, cowardice and heroism – as well as thousands of bland moments unworthy of note? The memory that helps make us up is a veritable patchwork quilt stitched together from the ever-growing mountain of discrete, multicolored memories. What will be stitched into the quilt and what will be discarded, or what will feature prominently on that quilt and what will form a background, will depend greatly on how we sew our memories together and how others – from those who are closest to us all the way to our culture as a whole – sew them together for us. We are not just shaped by memories; we ourselves shape the memories that shape us.

And since we do so, the consequences are significant; for because we shape our memories, our identities cannot consist simply in what we remember. The question of how we remember also comes into play. Because we can react to our memories and shape them, we are larger than our memories. If our reactions to our memories were determined simply by the memories themselves, then we would be slaves of the past. But unless we have been severely damaged and are in desperate need of healing, we have a measure of freedom with regard to our memories. To the extent that we are psychologically healthy, our identities will consist largely in our free responses to our memories, not just in the memories themselves. (page 25).

He goes on to explore ways in which our memories become distorted and we may unconsciously shape our memories in ways that tend to vindicate our roles in certain situations and remember the “villains” in our interpreted experiences as worse than they actually are or were. I have since learned that there is a whole interdisciplinary field called “Memory Studies” which brings together historians, ethnographers, sociologists, social psychologists, experts in comparative literature, and others to study the way that personal, social and institutional memories are formed, shaped and distorted and how they impact the ways people act and interact. The University of Warwick has even established a Centre for Memory Studies, which brings together people from various academic fields to study and talk about how memory shapes individuals and communities both for good and for ill. Even more recently l was discussing the subject with someone who has studied and practiced “magic” for many years, and he told me that magicians are fully aware of the inaccuracies of our memories and plant certain interpretations of what they do in their audience’s mind to leave distorted versions of their audience’s memories of their performances. This leads people to tell their friends and neighbors things about the performance that aren’t quite true (“He never touched the deck of cards!”; “We shuffled the deck ourselves!”).

The intentional and unintentional grooming of our memories shapes our understanding of and relationship with God and with others and the world around us. And it helps explain how spiritual and emotional scars can grow larger with time just as the physical scar over my stomach has done the same. It can also help us understand how some of our memories become, as Barbara Streisand has sung, “misty water-colored memories”: like water colored paintings they may have a close relationship with reality but they inevitably reflect interpretation in which some details are left out and others are highlighted. Barbara is right to ask: “Can it be that it was all so simple [or unfair, or perfect, or unjust, or innocent] then? Or has time rewritten every line?”

The Bible has a lot to say about what and how we should remember, as a simple search for various forms of the words for remembering would demonstrate. In his book Volf discusses his own memories of being interrogated and tormented for his personal views while a member of the Yugoslavian army and he later comes back to the subject to apply what he might learn from Israel’s own way of remembering:

To return to my own experience in the Yugoslavian army, I can view myself primarily as a person who was terrorized by powerful people against whom I was helpless and whose intensions I could not discern. Or I can see myself primarily as a person who, after some suffering, has been delivered by God and given a new life, somewhat like the ancient Israelites, who in their sacred writings saw themselves not primarily as those who suffered in Egypt but as those who were delivered by Yahweh. I can be angry about suffering. I can be thankful for deliverance. I can be both. I can also let that year of suffering recede somewhere into a distant background and stretch myself toward the future….” (page 26)

There is much more to be gained from Volf’s book. My prayer is that we may learn to remember rightly – to remember correctly – as we learn to watch for our natural tendency to distort our memories in ways that exonerate (or possibly pile excessive amounts of guilt on) ourselves and that portray our perceived oppressors as greater villains than they actually were, and that God may be glorified as his grace, goodness and mercy loom ever larger in our minds as we fully recognize his role as the one who redeems our lives through our gracious Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Restoring Old Things

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

You could shake all of the contents of the entire series of books into its corners with room to spare: children, fauns, dwarfs, friendly giants, the White Witch, even the great lion. I’m telling you, it is huge!

I refinish furniture for relaxation when I’m not working at the seminary. A few years ago, I began to refinish an old walnut wardrobe that could accommodate all of Narnia… literally. When I started the project, I found it too cold to work in my shop that winter, so I had all the parts—base, cap, sides, back, inner chambers, hardware—scattered throughout the rest of my basement. Did I mention that the wardrobe is huge? It is so gigantic, in fact, that I wasn’t able to get it through the door when completed. I had to re-construct it in the room where it ended up.

The wardrobe almost got the best of me. Alone for hours, up to my elbows in skin-blistering stripper, filthy dirty, the thought actually crossed my mind: Why am I doing this? I could be upstairs reading Narnia rather than down here finding it a new home.

I won’t bore you with the results of such ruminations (brought on by stripper fumes no doubt), except to say that, like perhaps many of you with your methods of relaxation, part of my satisfaction in restoring furniture I attribute to my tendency toward distraction.

To restore furniture—to be a really good furniture refinisher—you have to be a really good daydreamer. You have to let your mind wander back to see the piece of furniture for what it was at one time, the glory days of the piece when it wore its newness so naturally. I wonder about the original creator of the wardrobe. What tools did he use; what obstacles did he have to overcome; what purposes drove him to make such a fine piece?

To see the piece for what it was at one time is key in seeing the piece of furniture for what it could be again. What potential is there in an old beat up wardrobe? Look at it again. Scrape off the blistered old finish, glue back the free edges of veneer, replace the broken hardware and you will see its past, and in seeing its past, you will give it a whole new life.

What I am speaking about, of course, is the act of re-creating something, an act that begs reflection on our human, divinely ordained mandate in Genesis 2. The reader can do this for him or herself while I reflect one more time on my re-created wardrobe. Even when refinished, that old piece bears the marks of its past. I have yet to restore a piece of furniture to its original condition. The beauty of my wardrobe is in the newly applied stain that only partially covers the conspicuous missing chips of veneer. It’s newly found beauty is partially in comparing its past with its new present.

So, why do I bring up my wardrobe? I bring it up because the very same act of re-creation goes on with pastors in their own churches. Without ignoring the wonderful things God is doing with the church planting processes throughout the country, most of us—most of our graduates who leave us—are dealing with old furniture when we consider the churches and other places of ministry we serve. Who of us doesn’t live with years of old varnish and bleached stain when we enter our sanctuaries on Sundays, interact with our leadership, administrate our threadbare programs, or counsel weak and battered members within our church?

What should our expectations be as we seek, through the Spirit, to restore old churches back to usefulness? One of the things we see with some of our students who leave us after their years of study here are well-intended church re-creators who put their newly acquired tools to the task of reshaping old ministry contexts. Their desires to polish these old churches back to new luster are very good. In their tool chest, they may often pull out a newly sharpened church model that, on the surface, would seem to be just the thing to bring new life to these old places.

Then why don’t these old churches polish up? Too often, I am afraid, they—we—who dream about new life in our churches—new programs, new leadership, new potential— seek to change these antiques after our own image without seeing them for what they are, wonderful old places with rich histories of God’s faithfulness. They may have gone astray. They often are filled with old, entrenched leadership. They don’t move very fast. Dump them on the table and you will find tired old programs rolling aimlessly around the edges. We want to change all this and the sooner the better.

But, to be a good daydreamer of these old churches, is there not something to be said for first accepting them for what they are in all their uniqueness, in the context of their rich histories, and with appreciation for what has brought them to their present condition? It seems to me, to be a good restorer of old churches begins first with letting our minds wander back to their glory days. How did they start? Why did they start? In what context were they placed? How has that context changed? What kind of leaders have led these unique churches in the past and how do they represent leadership needs in the present? What kinds of programs worked earlier? Is there a relationship between these kinds of programs and what could be offered, in new ways, in the present?

I wouldn’t trade my house full of old furniture for all the furniture stores full of new furniture in the world. I love old things. I love to re-create old things. To be a re-creator of churches, I think, too, requires that we love, we truly love, old things.

Something about the Sea

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

I have never lived far from the ocean. Even if the busyness of life keeps me from heading to the sea, it is a comfort to know that it is out there close in its grey infinitude. You don’t need to press your ear against a sea shell to hear its voice beckoning. The sound of the waves goes well beyond earshot.

What is the ocean’s allure? Personal history of course plays a part. If half my childhood summers were wasted in the slough of despond that is 1970’s television (“Joker, joker…and a triple!”; “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”), the rest were spent on the beaches of Duxbury, MA. There was plenty of opportunity to think as you walked to Duxbury Beach from the mainland, across what was said to be the longest wooden bridge in America; or as you walked down its six miles of sand. From the prospect of high waves to ride in youth to the reality of broken romances in adolescence, the ocean was the backdrop for much of my life. All of this clings to your mind as determinedly as the sea salt once stuck to your skin.

On a more philosophical level, the sea side incarnates the tension of land and liquidity, changelessness and change. The shore may erode through the slow decades, the sea may explode in hurricane force, but the shore is still the shore and the sea is still the sea. The marriage endures through the storms. Yet the sea is always shifting: changing color, changing shape, changing depth. A friend of mine admitted that he was reluctant to move to St. Andrews in Scotland because living by the sea would be so monotonous. He happily discovered how wrong he had been. The Greeks said you can’t step into the same river twice; the same could be said of seeing the sea. For the land-loving Israelite, such shape-shifting made the sea a ready image of the chaos that always threaten to engulf the world (Daniel 7, Revelation 21:1). But even they knew that down deep it was the magnificent handiwork of the living God, and even the dread Leviathan was just a (Ps. 104:24-26).

The sea is also the great repository of memory, a magnet for musings. Dylan Thomas writes in the beginning of “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”, “All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves.” It is a great gray slate waiting for you to scratch your thoughts on its surface. There is no therapy quite so satisfying as simply spinning your shredded soul into the forgetfulness of the deep. Not for nothing did God promise that he would cast our sins into the depth of the sea (Micah 7:19); there they can be drowned as dead as Pharaoh.

And so the sea’s highest call is to remind us of God: beautiful in his simplicity, ferocious in his wrath, unfathomable in the depths of his sin-swallowing grace.

Winsomeness and Discernment

By Maria Boccia, PhD
Professor of Pastoral Counseling and Psychology
Director of Graduate Programs in Counseling Charlotte campus

I was not going to write about “the women’s issue” this month. I was actually going to talk about sexuality, faith, and modern culture. However, Sunday happened and things changed.

This past Sunday, my husband and I visited one of the largest churches in our city. There was a guest preacher (it is a joke between us that whenever we visit a church, we always get a special occasion and have to go a second time to see what the church is really like!). The guest preacher was the president of a different seminary from out of town. He chose as his passage Colossians 3:18-21:

Wives, be subject to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord Husbands, love your wives and do not be embittered against them. Children, be obedient to your parents in all things, for this is well-pleasing to the Lord. Fathers, do not exasperate your children, so that they will not lose heart. [i]

I felt the urge to leave immediately after he read the passage. However, I did not want to be disrespectful. Several other times during the sermon, I again felt the urge to leave, and again forbore. It occurred to me, that as a guest preacher and the president of a seminary, his choice of this passage was not unintentional, and I wondered if he was preaching the sermon at other churches he visited.

It was no surprise to me that he would preach the traditional subordinationist interpretation of this passage. I was surprised at how far he went to support this view. To show women that it was okay to submit to their husbands and it did not mean they were lesser creatures, he explained that this was like the Trinity: even though the three persons of the Trinity are equal in being, for the purpose of redemption, the second person submitted himself to the first. He left lots of wiggle room when he described this, but I was shocked that the president of what I have always considered an evangelical seminary would go to this place to defend his subordinationist position. The subordination of the Son (in His Deity, not just His Humanity) has been condemned as a heresy by the church since the Council of Nicea in 325.[ii] Another subordinationist, in a recent book, asserted that we should not pray to Jesus but only to the Father, since he only is supreme.[iii]

After this, the preacher went on to the other verses here. Once again, I was surprised at where he went in explaining why husbands can be bitter towards their wives (and hence why they are told not to be). He began by saying that the women present should not take offense at what he was about to say, but to hear him out. Then he said: women are manipulative and deceitful and conniving. This was why men needed to work at not being bitter towards their wives. Even as I write this, I can hardly believe it. The saddest part for me was that the women present giggled at this.

The saddest thing of all for me, however, was that this preacher said many, many good things in the course of the sermon. He was encouraging, winsome, scholarly, engaging, and humorous. There was much good to take from his sermon. In my mind, this makes the error all the more insidious and dangerous. My point is about this (which is not specific to the women’s issue): we must ever be discerning in what we receive from teachers and preachers.

Because a preacher or teacher is winsome, humorous, or appears scholarly, this does not mean that we can blindly and indiscriminately accept everything they say. We must always study to show ourselves approved, and be ready to answer anyone who questions our beliefs. We must also, like the Jews at Berea, “search the Scriptures daily to see if these things are so” (Acts 17:11). We cannot abdicate our responsibility to know God’s word and apply it to our lives to anyone else, no matter what their position or status in the church and no matter how scholarly, winsome or engaging they speak (2 Corinthians 11:14). We must each of us take the time to meditate on and study God’s Word so that when we hear someone preaching or teaching, we may discern truth from error, and accept the former and reject the latter. This can be difficult and time-consuming, but the alternative is unthinkable. Let us encourage one another to pursue God’s truth and the discipline of serious study guided by the Holy Spirit, the history of the church, and the community of believers, so we may be discerning even in the context of the most winsome teacher of error.

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^[i] New American Standard Bible : 1995 update. 1995 (Col 3:18–21). LaHabra, CA: The Lockman Foundation.

^[ii]James P. Eckman. Exploring Church History. (Wheaton: Crossway Books.2002).

^[iii]Bruce A. Ware, Father, Son and Holy Spirit: Relationships, Roles and Relevance,(Wheaton: Crossway Books, 2005), 153.

Praying for the Work of Bible Translation around the World

By Roy Ciampa, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

Where would our churches be today were it not for the fact that we (speakers of “major” languages like English, Spanish, Portuguese, Korean, etc.) have easily accessible translations of the Bible into our own language(s)? I have so many different translations on my book shelves it isn’t funny. And yet there are so many groups around the world that do not yet have one whole Bible (or even the Old or New Testament) translated into their language.

Among my heroes are those who dedicate their lives to changing that situation. It has been my privilege to meet many such Bible translators and get to know a number of them. Many have gone to live in a village and do their best to learn its culture and language in order to be able to help some of its members produce a translation of the Scriptures into their language for the very first time. Such women and men have experienced isolation from their own culture and extended family and have undergone dramatic cultural adaptation. And they have loved people that live in places that most of us have never heard of and where we would not be willing to take our families.

The lengths to which they are willing to go to follow through on their commitment to getting the Scriptures into the languages of people who have never heard the Bible read in their own language before is inspiring to me and I consider it an extreme privilege to rub shoulders with such people.

So the last few weeks have been pretty special for me. During the last two weeks of May we had the first residency of the Bible translation track of the Gordon-Conwell Doctor of Ministry program. I had the privilege of spending two weeks with my co-mentor, Dr. Bryan Harmelink, and a group of gifted and experienced D.Min. students (almost all of whom work with one or another of the agencies of the Forum of Bible Agencies International) who brought a rich set of experiences in and knowledge about Bible translation around the world.

Right after the D.Min. residency concluded I headed out on a seventeen-day trip to Spain and Portugal. In Spain I attended a conference on translation and cognition and then the Nida School for Translation Studies, both of which were attended by a combination of Bible translators and academics specializing in the field of translation studies. In Portugal I also met with (among others) old and new friends who have been engaged in the work of Bible translation. The day after I returned to the States I had office hours with a couple of Gordon-Conwell students who are experienced Bible translators (with Wycliffe Bible Translators).

So it’s no surprise that Bible translation is on my mind these days and the importance of having access to the Scriptures in our mother tongue for our spiritual health, the spread of the gospel and the vitality of the church.

Those carrying out the work of Bible translation around the world deserve not only our admiration, but also our support, financially and in prayer. It is very challenging work that requires much time and many resources. If we took a moment each time we opened our own favorite Bible (or try to decide which one to use today!) to think about and pray for those working around the world so that others would also have greater access to the Word of God, what might the impact be? We need to be praying that those translations would not only be completed, but would also be eagerly used in the most effective and culturally appropriate ways so that as many people as possible come to know and experience the love, truth, and grace of God in Christ and become engaged in making Christ and his grace known to others.

And if only more people in our own communities were experiencing the transforming power of the Word of God through their own engagement of Scripture! What impact might that have on our own society?

Reading in the Company of Others

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

What are you reading? Look down there on your nightstand, or is it the little table next to your desk in the office? Or, perhaps I should ask, ‘are you reading…anything?’

I confess, in the midst of some of the frantic moments of my day-to-day life, these questions conjure up huge mountains of guilt for me. There are times when all I want to do is crawl into a small dark corner, sit on a soft barker lounge, and escape into the drama of a flat screen television. You know the scene: the diet coke and chips are on my right side, the clicker is on my left side and then… clear as day, I hear those aggravating, sniffling words from my dear old friend, Charles Spurgeon,

The man who never reads will never be read; he who never quotes will never be quoted. He who will not use the thoughts of other men’s brains, proves that he has no brains of his own. Brethren, what is true of ministers is true of all of people. YOU need to read. (#542 Spurgeon Sermon “Paul-His Cloak and His Books” in the Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit 9 (1863): 668-669).

Sometimes I just hate Spurgeon.

Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes a date with a barker lounge chair, a diet coke, and a clicker is the right thing to do. Unfortunately, put the three together and they can become a habit, and habits sometimes become preoccupations, and preoccupations sometimes become lifestyles.

So, how do I get out from this corner of guilt that I have painted myself into? Recently, I have begun to approach reading in a new way, new way for me, that is. Actually, my guess is that this approach has been around for a long time and I have just been looking the other way.

For years, I have viewed reading strictly as a solitary enterprise. That is, take the television and clicker away and you would have seen me on that same barker lounge, with the same diet coke, only this time reading alone. What I chose to read was a private affair. How I engaged with the ideas in the book was a private affair. How I used what I learned was a private affair. Everything was private.

All this has changed recently. I am beginning to view reading more communally, that is, as an act of community. For the past two years I have found myself in a monthly reading group and have found the experience liberating for a variety of reasons. First, do you see the rut that follows me wherever I go? Left to my own inclinations, I tend to read the same types of things over and over again. What is it for you? For me it is biographies and historical novels and survival literature. Being a card-carrying member of the group has changed all of this. What we read is a group decision. I have been forced to read things I otherwise would not have read. Go figure, I just read two great books on worship that would have, otherwise, been on the bottom of my reading list.

Further, the book group has allowed me the opportunity to think through what I have read in the company of others. Imagine this; my first reading of a book is not always right! Sometimes in mildly annoying ways, these men have forced me to think differently and creatively. Our reading together has challenged me in ways that would not have been the case if I were reading in solitude. Typically we have walked away from our times together intentionally asking ourselves how the residue of what we have read will stick with us for the long haul. How might the book we just read change us even in small but concrete ways?

Maybe it has something to do with the air in the room that us common readers of books share. Once ideas are floating out there, outside of our individual heads, they somehow become more objective and concrete. We find that none of us are in sole possession of them; they exist separate from us. Like a good tennis match, watching these ideas being batted around from one side of the room to the other has made reading an entirely new sport. I like that.

The Graced Wenham Swamp

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of canoeing on (and briefly in) the Ipswich River. I have caught glimpses of the river as I have driven about the North Shore, but that is a very different thing from snaking through its length – it is a bit like looking at faucets and sinks with no sense of the pipes behind the walls.

The highlight of the trip was spending the night in the midst of the Great Wenham Swamp, an entity I had known up to this point only as a Great White Space with intermittent green brushstrokes on the town map. Here, just a few miles from GCTS, I felt I was in the New England equivalent of the Atchafalaya Basin or the Everglades – no alligators or poisonous snakes (though the mosquitoes did their level best to fill the “threatening animals” category), but plenty of water, plenty of wildness…and most importantly, plenty of birds.

I had been a low-level birdwatcher in the days before the flood of work and family commitments swallowed up the discretionary time necessary for standing around in the woods and waiting for things to turn up. My sightings were mostly happenstansical. I sat by the pond at the end of the road of our house in Duxbury and looked up to see inches away a Cedar Waxwing, with its sublime coloring and its punk-rock-sunglasses eyeband. I almost literally stumbled upon a brilliant blue Indigo Bunting on a path just off Route 20 in Waltham. I was astounded by the size of the wings and the bright red head of a Pileated Woodpecker I spotted while wandering in the woods at a church picnic in Townsend. A friend at work gave me a copy of Birds of North America and I was hooked, (or netted, as the case may be).

But that was long ago. I am now restricted to what flutters into our suburban neighborhood – the usual assortment of sparrows and crows, with the occasional cardinal or goldfinch to brighten things up. Even here, of course, strange and wonderful things can pop up – a pair of wood ducks alighted on our neighbors’ tree one morning a few weeks ago. I didn’t know they were wood ducks right away, but a google search of “ducks in trees white bands on head” kept turning up “wood duck” in response, and I had the diagnosis confirmed by Rick, a friend of mine who actually knows what he is doing in the ornithological realm.

He was in fact there with me in the Great Wenham Swamp. He showed me a few of the wood ducks flying past our little island hideaway, along with a Baltimore Oriole; my delight at the brilliance of its plumage (viewed through high quality binoculars) was matched only by my delight at the fact that it looked exactly like the picture of the oriole that adorns the Hamilton- Wenham Little Leaguers’ caps. While Rick describes himself as only a moderate birder, he was able to identify birds by calls and flight with remarkable ease.

It struck me then, as it has struck me before, how the experience of birdwatching reflects so closely the experience of God’s grace .(It also is an experience of grace, of course, if you appreciate birds). You can put yourself in a position to see certain birds if you choose the right time of day and the right setting, and if you keep your eyes and ears open…but you can’t make them come. They come when they want. In the same way, the gift of God’s grace will come and go as he pleases. But by patient attendance on his Word and consistent fellowship with his people, we can be in a position where the likelihood of finding his grace increases exponentially. But it is never under our control -- which is just as well. Wood ducks will very occasionally pop up on suburban streets; and the grace of God will sometimes appear where you least expect it.

When in doubt . . .

By Maria Boccia, PhD
Professor of Pastoral Counseling and Psychology
Director of Graduate Programs in Counseling Charlotte campus

The name of the program of which I am the director is Graduate Programs in Counseling, and the degree my students obtain is called a Master of Arts in Christian Counseling. Christian counseling versus counseling: My students are very interested in the difference between these two. They ask about working with Christians versus people who do not claim Christ. How do they counsel these people? Sometimes they say they want to be in a church setting, and plan to work with Christians. In my experience, happily, if a counseling center has a reputation for helping people, they will come, even unbelievers, to the church. So, I tell my students that they need to be prepared to work with whomever God brings to them. It is a divine appointment.

I work with Christians. I work with non-Christians. I work with people who are questioning. I work with people who are settled in their beliefs. But they are all human beings, made in the image of God. They all human beings, subject to the Fall. Everyone who walks in my office is a unique creation, made by God in his own image, and fallen into sin. So Christians and non-Christians have many things in common. When someone comes to me for help, I have much from which to draw to help them. I can use what I have learned from the fields of psychology, biology, and medicine because God in his providence calls his Image Bearers to learn from his creation, and gives them the tools they need to do so. It is easy to see how I can apply secular psychology, under the authority of Scripture, to both Christians and non-Christians. But it is also true that I can apply the principles of Scripture to both non-Christians and Christians.

“When in doubt, follow the directions of the manufacturer.” When I buy a new article of clothing, I look at the tag to see how to best care for it to ensure a long life and good wear. This principle applies to human life as well. “When in doubt, follow the directions of the Maker.” God has given us his Word to reveal his salvific plan in history and to give us wisdom in how we should live the life which is his gift to us. The principles of how to live revealed to us in Scripture, as we seek to live them out, will lead us to become the people God intended us to be. It has been my assumption that this means if we follow these principles it will lead us into, among other things, healthier places. And these principles apply to the unbeliever as well as the believer.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you” (Philippians 4:8–9; ESV). One of the basic premises of cognitive behavioral therapy is that to change behavior one must change one’s thoughts which affect one’s emotions which motivates behavior. This applies to both believers and unbelievers.

So when my students ask me how I work with people who are not Christians I point this out. I always use the principles that God has provided us on how to live. With non-Christians I don’t couch them in Christianese or quote chapter and verse. But the principles apply to them as well as to the believers who come to see me. Sometimes, it takes a while for science to catch up with the principles of Scripture but eventually, if the researchers are honest, it does. For example God’s plan and pattern is for men and women to marry, then live together and have sex. It has become ubiquitous in our society for men and women to go in the opposite sequence: have sex, they move in together, and then (maybe) they get married. Science has caught up with God’s plan and found that cohabitation has lots of negative consequences for relationships (see my earlier blog on this topic at http://connect.gordonconwell.edu/members/blog_view.asp?id=190052&post=33380&hhSearchTerms=marriage#comment9604). So if I am providing premarital counseling for a couple and learn they are living together, I will challenge them in this area. If they are Christians I will use both science and Scripture to make my case, if they are not I still have much I can say to them about what is the best way to live to ensure a long and healthy marriage. When I think about counseling, whether Christians or non-Christians, I remember what CS Lewis said:

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the all in the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.[1]

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^[1] C. S. Lewis (1949). The weight of glory.

Thoughts on Theological Polemic that Honors Christ

By Roy Ciampa, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

In Matthew 7:3 Jesus asked his disciples, “Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?” The answer, it seems, is very simple! Because I actually think the thing in my brother’s eye is a log, and I only have a tiny speck of dust in my own eye. I’ve been thinking lately about how we tend to get so comfortable with our own views that we begin to think that our perceptions of things are “natural” while those of other people are not. In theology we often go through an early stage or period where we see strengths, weaknesses and problems with both or various sides of some issue. We wrestle through those issues, deciding which strengths outweigh which weaknesses and which problems are easier to resolve than others and we decide where we stand on the issue. We may decide tentatively initially, or we may decide with the zeal of the convert who has made a definitive commitment and who now believes they have finally come to the truth of the matter.

After we live from within the position we have adopted for a while, we tend to become more and more comfortable with the arguments we found in favor of our position and against the alternative(s). This is often to the point that we eventually fail to remember that the position we hold had and has problems of its own (which is why godly and intelligent people do not all agree on the issue and why we had to work through the issues and challenges in the first place.)

So the Arminian forgets that there are some biblical passages that seem to more easily support a Calvinist position and the Calvinist forgets that there are some biblical passages that seem to more easily support an Arminian position. Similarly, the egalitarian forgets that some biblical texts do seem to point towards a more complementarian position and the complementarian seems to forget that there are some that seem to support a more egalitarian position. Of course the number of issues could be limitlessly expanded to include various solutions to the problem of evil, the proper mode and subjects of baptism, the meaning and practice of the Lord’s Supper, Christian views on war and the use of violence, eschatological views, understandings of sanctification, and many, many more.

The longer we live within the viewpoint we have adopted the harder it becomes to recognize that what we originally thought to be branches of more or less equal thickness have over time begun to seem more like specks on one side and logs on the other. That’s not quite true. In many cases we don’t think ours are even specks any more, but the biblical and theological problems in the other person’s position clearly look like logs – obvious, embarrassing, ugly logs. I’m getting to the age where I need to visit the eye doctor on a regular basis. My vision is changing over time. Our intellectual and theological vision also changes with time. It may not deteriorate in general, but we may begin to have difficulty seeing problems with our own positions that once were not quite as difficult to see. Theological debate is made more difficult when we fail to realize that the advantages and normative status we attribute to our own positions, the positions which provide us with such a clear view of the deficiencies in others’ ideas, are not readily apparent to those with whom we differ.

When or if we enter into debate about any of the issues that have divided brothers and sisters in Christ it is important to remember that arguments and evidence that we now consider clear and obvious are not so clear and obvious to others, who are perhaps even more attuned to other arguments and evidence that we might tend to neglect or downplay. It is also important to make sure we practice love of neighbor and its proper application in the context of theological debate.

Roger Nicole, professor emeritus of theology at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, has written an excellent article reminding us of our obligations to those who differ from us. As he puts it, “what we owe that person who differs from us, whoever that may be, is what we owe every human being--we owe them love. And we owe it to them to deal with them as we ourselves would like to be dealt with or treated. (Matthew 7:12)”

Nicole helpfully reminds us that, “we owe it to our opponents to deal with them in such a way that they may sense that we have a real interest in them as persons, that we are not simply trying to win an argument or show how smart we are, but that we are deeply interested in them--and are eager to learn from them as well as to help them.”

Nicole provides a wonderful model for the way we ought to present the views of those with whom we disagree:

One method that I have found helpful in making sure that I have dealt fairly with a position that I could not espouse was to assume that a person endorsing that view was present in my audience (or was reading what I had written). Then my aim is to represent the view faithfully and fully without mingling the criticism with factual statements. In fact, I try to represent them so faithfully and fully that an adherent to that position might comment, “This man certainly does understand our view!” It would be a special boon if one could say, “I never heard it stated better!” Thus I have earned the right to criticize. But before I proceed to do this, it is only proper that I should have demonstrated that I have a correct understanding of the position I desire to contest.

D. A. Carson shares a helpful excerpt from Bryan Magee’s book, Confessions of a Philosopher: A Personal Journey through Western Philosophy from Plato to Popper (New York: Modern Library, 1999), 152-3, about what he learned about argumentation from Karl Popper. It takes the approach recommended by Nicole in the previous paragraph one step further:

I had always loved argument, and over the years I had become quite good at identifying weak points in an opponent’s defense and bringing concentrated fire to bear on them. This is what virtually all polemicists have sought to do since ancient times, even the most famous of them. But Popper did the opposite. He sought out his opponents’ case at its strongest and attacked that. Indeed, he would improve it, if he possibly could, before attacking it. . . . Over several pages of prior discussion he would remove avoidable contradictions or weaknesses, close loopholes, pass over minor deficiencies, let his opponents’ case have the benefit of every possible doubt, and reformulate the most appealing parts of it in the most rigorous, powerful and effective arguments he could find—and then direct his onslaught against it.

One could argue that Popper’s approach is most consistent with the Christian ethic of love for one’s neighbor (although the word “onslaught” may not be the best description for a Christian approach to debate!). All too often one walks away from a debate sensing that one person’s (or neither person’s) strong and valid points were ever acknowledged or that many of the points of criticism that were made were completely valid but that they addressed secondary or non-essential aspects of the opponent’s arguments rather than the key planks in the foundation or essential points of their argument.

I highly recommend a careful reading of Nicole’s whole argument to all who might ever enter into any kind of theological debate. It is full of wisdom and grace. I’ll just cite two more paragraphs, regretting those that I must omit.

To raise the question, “What do I owe the person who differs from me?” is very important, for otherwise any discussion is doomed to remain unproductive. The truth that I believe I have grasped must be presented in a spirit of love and winsomeness. To do otherwise is to do detriment to truth itself, for it is more naturally allied to love than to hostility. (Eph. 4:15) Belligerence or sarcasm may, in fact, reflect a certain insecurity that is not warranted when one is really under the sway of truth. It may well be that God's servant may be moved to righteous indignation in the presence of those "who suppress the truth by their wickedness" (Rom. 1:18)…. But when dealing with those we have a desire to influence for the good, we need imperatively to remain outgoing and gracious.

When we give due attention to what we owe those who differ and what we can learn from them, we may be less inclined to proceed in a hostile manner. Our hand will not so readily contract into a boxing fist, but will be extended as an instrument of friendship and help; our feet will not be used to bludgeon another, but will bring us closer to those who stand afar; our tongue will not lash out in bitterness and sarcasm, but will speak words of wisdom, grace and healing (Prov. 10:20, 21; 13:14; 15:1; 24:26; 25:11; James 3).

Of theological debate, like the making of many books, there is no end. In fact, healthy theological debate is vitally important for the health of the church and so it is tremendously important that the church learn to do it well, in a way that honors God and edifies the church. May God help us, as we seek the truth and its benefits, to recognize our own logs, and to be people in whom Christ’s own love, grace, wisdom and patience may be seen, so that (although this may seem a stretch to some) even our theological arguments could be perceived as having been practiced in such a fair and gracious manner that they may be seen as light shining before others who might recognize them as (Christ-inspired) good deeds and glorify our Father in heaven (Matt. 5:16).