A meditation on the Good Samaritan

I am planning, for the first Sunday of 2009, to preach on the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). As I have read, prayed over, and daydreamed about the passage for the past couple of weeks, I have become convinced of at least four things.

1. Jesus changes the question that we need to ask. The lawyer asks Jesus the question, "Who is my neighbor?" What is noteworthy is that Jesus never answers that question. Look again at the parable. Does Jesus ever say that the injured traveler is the Samaritan's neighbor? No. But in v. 36 he asks which man "proved to be a neighbor." So the question is not "Who is my neighbor?" The question is this: "Am I a neighbor?" In other words, do I treat those with whom I come into contact in a neighborly fashion? This is a startling question. We dare not ignore any class of people, and we need not go out of our way to find someone to love in the Samaritan way. We need only look at whomever is in front of us. I suspect that if I learned to look at my surroundings this way, I would find plenty of pain and poverty to which to minister.
   
2. Proper worship of God always leads to sacrificial, self-forgetful love. This story would have been shocking to Jesus' lawyer listener precisely because it was a hated, half-breed Samaritan who was the hero of Jesus' story. Additional reflection shows how disturbing the story must have been to this Jewish legal expert. The Samaritans were despised for being impure ethnically and religiously. But the Samaritans did have the Mosaic Law. This Samaritan man should have known that he faced ritual defilement if the man died. But he stopped anyway, and in doing so proved himself a better master of the Law than either priest or Levite. If concerns for orthodoxy do not translate to orthopraxy, then we do not really know the truth (Hos 4:6).
   
3. A key measure of our love is how we serve those who are different from us. The barriers broken down in this story are probably the most cited features of the parable. But the implications are far-reaching. The Bible study that does not welcome people who are different for fear of disrupting their "fellowship," or the congregation that in a dozen small ways lets the family whose skin color or first language is different know that they are not welcome, or the family that will not say hello to their next-door neighbor because they do not approve of the neighbor's lifestyle... All of these attitudes and behaviors fail the test of the Samaritan way of love.
4. Jesus Christ Himself is the true Good Samaritan. If all I am left with from this parable are the first three convictions, then I am left with Pharisaism that has replaced one set of laws with another. The reality is that I am the traveler left on the side of the road, beaten and bloodied by my own sin, with no right to expect any help from God. I could not love this way even if I were inclined to try, which I was not until Christ laid hold of me. He loved me and paid for my healing at great cost to Himself, bearing God's wrath in my place and washing me in his blood. Only as a ransomed and recreated being can I walk in the Samaritan way, which is in reality the way of Christ himself.

There is much more to say about this parable than what I have said here (those who attend Bethel do not get to skip the worship service on January 4th by reading this). But as Christmas and the New Year rapidly approach, these are the sorts of things I want to be thinking about for my own soul's sake, for my family, and for my church.

What Americans owe to the Puritans

This essay at Culture11 gives credit to the Puritans for America's "egalitarian political idealism, our love of genuinely humane and liberating learning, and our human enjoyment and happiness." It is hardly a popular idea, a reality the author, Peter Lawler, readily admits. But I am inclined to agree with him as he sketches the development of education and democracy among the Puritans.

Americans owe much to their Puritan forebears, even if we have turned the label into an insult. Though come to think of it, I believe the word "Puritan" was also an insult in the 16th century (according to J.I. Packer's lectures on the Puritans at Reformed Theological Seminary). So maybe things have not changed so much. Though we have largely absorbed and expanded their beliefs regarding education and democracy, we have left their ideals regarding the communal good behind (an ideal we might want to revisit in light of the current economic situation), and even within the church we shy away from being identified with them.

The essay is worth reading. Check it out and let me know what you think.

HT: JT

Humbled by family blessings

Earlier this week, my wife and I celebrated our fifth anniversary. A friend from church watched our daughter for us so that we could get away overnight. I surprised Michelle with where we were going: up the Hudson River Valley to stay in a bed & breakfast and enjoy some wonderful food and sights. My joy was fulfilled by seeing her joy in our time together. I often joke that I married above myself -- actually, I am only half joking when I say it. She is kinder, more generous, and more patient than I am. She sees my faults for what they are and loves me despite them. I love her deeply and dearly. I do not deserve a woman as wonderful as my wife.

We chose the name Abigail for our daughter because of what it means in Hebrew: my father's joy. Our hope and prayer is that she will indeed be a joy to her Father in heaven, that she will recognize God's Anointed One, even as her namesake did in I Samuel 25, and place her faith in Him. But Abby is also her earthly father's joy. She is more than I deserve.

Today I drove to Newark Liberty Airport to pick up my wife's parents, who will be staying with us for a week for Thanksgiving. I know some men who have difficult relationships with their in-laws. I do not. I love my father-in-law and mother-in-law, and they love me as a son. My wife and I enjoy hanging out with them and have lots of plans for the coming week. They are more than I deserve.

After Christmas, we are planning on traveling to Florida to see my father and his wife. My mother died when I was in college, and Dad remarried. I know that some children begrudge a widowed parent's remarriage, but my stepmother makes my father happy. They are good together. I look forward to seeing them and spending time together. They are more than I deserve.

I am humbled by the family God has given me. It is all of grace. I hope that this Thanksgiving will be more than a time for football and food. I have much to give thanks for.

Humbled by full atonement

I suspect that while I am still clothed in mortal flesh, I will never fully appreciate the magnitude of the wrong I have done against God.

R. C. Sproul has helpfully highlighted three metaphors that Scripture uses to describe sin: crime, debt, and enmity. In the first case, God is seen as Lawgiver and Judge. In the second, He is Creator and Creditor. In the third, He is King and Master. Now of course God is Lawgiver, Creditor, and King at the same time. The metaphors are not mutually exclusive, but only offered to help us see our sin problem from a number of angles.

If God is Lawgiver and Judge, then I am lawbreaker and criminal. If He is Creator and Creditor, then I am bankrupt and debtor. If He is King and Master, then I am enemy and traitor. Each perspective helps me understand the nature of my sin problem, and what the cross of Christ accomplished for me. At the cross Jesus acted as my substitute, propitiating God's wrath, expiating my guilt, crediting me with His own righteousness so that I am pronounced "Not Guilty!" before the tribunal of God (Rom 3:21-26). At the cross Jesus acted as my surety, paying my debt, ransoming me from my futile ways, canceling the bill against me, and granting me access to the riches of God (I Cor 6:9-11, 20). At the cross Jesus acted as my mediator, reconciling me to God, making peace between us, and grafting me into His holy people (Eph 2:11-22).

All this was accomplished definitively and finally at the cross. The Scripture never uses hypothetical language to describe what Christ accomplished for me or for anyone who believes at the cross. That which the Father planned is that which the Son accomplished and that which the Spirit applied. The Father chose me and sent His Son to die not a generic death, not potentially for me, but really and actually for me (Jn 10:14-16; Gal 2:20). My salvation was decreed from eternity and securely purchased through the atoning work of Jesus Christ. And as John Owen reminds us, in this secure and completed work are grounded "the assurance of our eternal glory and freedom from all accusations."

I deserve none of this. It is all free, extravagant grace, the opposite of what I deserve. But even this contemplation does not breed the humility that I need to cultivate.

Even if I were able to number every last law I had broken, even if the overdrafts on my account printed on a statement, even if on the duties I owed were spelled out in a job description, it would not be sufficient to help me understand the depth of my problem before God. John Piper has helped begin to get even an inkling of this with the following reasoning: God is of infinite worth and value. Therefore when I do not honor, trust, obey, worship, and delight in Him as I ought, I commit an infinitely weighty wrong. In fact, never in my life have I done what I ought in regard to God. And so the justice of God then requires a punishment proportionate to that wrong.

The more I think such thoughts, the more I meditate on passages such as Isaiah 42:8 -- "I am the Lord; that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to carved idols" -- the more I see that the apostle Paul did not believe himself to be engaging in hyperbole when he called himself the chief of sinners (I Tim 1:15). The more I see that I was by nature and by choice an object of wrath (Eph 2:1-3). And the deeper that conviction runs, the lower my own self-estimation becomes, and the more precious the atoning work of Christ becomes. Philip Bliss captured it well:

Guilty, vile, and helpless we;
Spotless Lamb of God was He;
“Full atonement!” can it be?
Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Humbled by regeneration and calling

In my preparation for Sunday's sermon, I have been thinking about Romans 8:7-8 -- "For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God."

In his commentary on this passage of Scripture, Martin Luther asks the question, "Where then is man's free will?" The more I meditate on it, the more I think Luther is right. The apostle Paul begins with a sheer statements of fact. Those who are "set on the flesh" (as contrasted with the regenerate person who is "set on the Spirit") have a mindset that is hostile to God. Although some might want to protest that "hostile" is too strong a word, that perhaps we know lots of people who are not Christians who do not "hate" God, the brute statement of Romans 8:7 remains, and it is echoed in passages such as Ephesians 4:17-19 and Jeremiah 17:9. But to the person who continues to protest, the apostle adds the statement that those set on the flesh do not submit to God's law and indeed cannot. There is an implicit question to the one who doubts his own hostility to God: Do you then do what He commands? And there is an implicit challenge: Try doing what He commands. You will find that you will not and cannot.

John Calvin writes in his commentary on Romans, "The heart is full of hardness and indomitable contumacy." And he is talking about my heart, apart from the life-giving work of the Holy Spirit attained for me through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Apart from the ever effectual voice of Jesus calling me to come and follow Him (Jn 10:27), apart from from the work of God's Spirit to open my eyes, unstop my ears, uncloud my conscience, soften my heart, and grant me faith and repentance (Jn 3:3-8; Eph 2:1-5; I Pet 1:3), I would never have believed. In fact, I not only would not have believed, I did not want to believe. I not only could not follow Jesus, I did not want to follow Him. I not only could not please God, I did not want to please God. Until I heard Christ's call and received the new birth, I was ever hearing but not understanding, ever seeing but not perceiving (Isa 6:9; Mk 4:12).

But now by God's grace, I can read Romans 8:9 and find hope: "You, however, are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God dwells in you." And does He dwell in me? He does if I am in Christ Jesus (Rom 8:1-4). And who is in Christ Jesus? The one who has faith in Him (Rom 4:24-25; 5:1-2; 6:1-4). And how do I possess this faith? As a gift from God (Phil 1:29; Eph 2:8-9).

Everything that I have in Christ, every way in which I have ever pleased God, every ability and good work, the life that is at work in me to change me, the very faith that unites me to Christ -- all a free gift of God's grace! There is no room for pride in a heart that is captured by these truths. There is nothing to be proud about. Surely believing our own depravity and inability will help us see the heights of the grace of God, and seeing this grace will root out arrogance and cultivate humility within us. Within me.

Thoughts before I vote today

In a few hours, I will head to the polls and vote for candidates for a number of offices, from the local to the national level. I am told that as a pastor, I should not publicly endorse one party or one candidate, a stance with which I agree but for different reasons than those given by the IRS. I am less worried about my church's tax-exempt status than I am about becoming beholden to one party over another, or wedding spiritual concerns too closely to political processes, or encouraging the flock with which I have been entrusted and for which I will be held accountable to see solutions to moral and spiritual problems coming from government.

So there will be no endorsements appearing on this blog. But I do have a few thoughts that I would like to share.

First some general convictions:

Every Christian in a democracy has an obligation to vote. This form of government makes its citizens part of the governing process. Those who govern are appointed by God and have the obligation before Him to govern well (Psa 72:1-4; Rom 13:1-7). God's people are also called to do good and seek the welfare of the place that they live (Jer 29:7). By implication, Christians in a democracy are appointed by God to vote responsibly and with an eye toward doing justice for the wicked and the righteous, for the lowly and the powerful.

All Christians have an obligation to pray for and submit to those in power (I Tim 1:1-2; I Pet 2:13-17), regardless of whom we voted for. Our prayers are the most effective weapon we have for influencing the course of affairs for our nation.

Christians should weigh the issues and vote their conscience. But not all issues are created equal. There are "weightier matters of the law" (Matt 23:23). That means that although we may evaluate Candidate A to be stronger on more issues than than Candidate B, if Candidate B is stronger on the weightier matters, or on the weightiest matter of all, then a Christian's conscience should be moved to vote for Candidate B. Go to this short essay-in-the-form-of-a-dialogue for an example of how this reasoning might work (HT: JT).

And now some personal convictions:

I wish I did not have to choose between key issues: the right to life of the unborn; justice for "the alien, the fatherless, and the widow"; stewardship of the created order; national security; economic policy. But choose I must. Opting out is not an option at all.

I am frightened of the prospect of the passage of the Freedom of Choice Act. But I am also aware that our national culture regarding beginning of life issues has changed since 1973. Until the church through our lives, actions, and words has a greater impact for the sake of the gospel, passing and defeating legislation has an important but limited role in seeking justice for the unborn.

I was opposed to the invasion of Iraq from the very beginning. I do not see how just war theory can be used to justify the invasion. But I am also aware that the situation in Iraq and its neighboring countries has changed since 2003. Leaving too soon could be worse than having invaded in the first place. Leaving too late could keep an independent and stable government from emerging. Anyone who says they know exactly what to do and when to do it in Iraq is foolish.

I do not need the Kyoto Protocol to tell me that stewardship of the created order is a good idea. Nor do I need an advocate of drilling in the ANWR to tell me that greater energy independence is wise. And some might accuse me of being naive or idealistic, but I also do not see a reason that stewardship and energy independence should be mutually exclusive concerns.

Try for a moment to step back from this particular election and these particular candidates. I would be delighted to vote for someone of a different ethnicity than mine. I would even say that having an African-American as my country's president would delight me.

In the end, the injustice of almost 50 million dead unborn children overwhelms any other injustices that I see in the political realm, not merely in this election but in any election. Though I largely agree with this essay by John Piper, I would not define myself as a single-issue voter. But some matters are so weighty that they open and close doors for further matters to be evaluated. The right to life is such an issue, the right not merely to live in a just world, but to live at all.

Wittenberg's Cathedral Door

Desiring God has an excellent post on Martin Luther. Today is the 491st anniversary of the posting of the 95 Theses, a key event in God's work for His church to recover the biblical gospel through the Reformation.

As I read the post, I was struck by something written there. Martin Luther wanted a debate, not a public scandal. So he posted his theses in Latin. Someone else got hold of them, translated them into German, and published them more broadly.

I observe two things from the way history played itself out. First, under the providence of God we do not always know whom He uses to accomplish His purposes. And it does not seem to matter if we know. We remember Martin Luther. But he was not looking for anything like what happened. Someone else did the translating and publishing that sparked the Reformation. In heaven, I would like to find that person and thank him. But I will have to wait till them, because until then I will not know who it was.

And second, under the providence of God we do not always know how God is going to accomplish His purposes. Luther was an Augustinian monk. He did what scholastic types did when they wanted to debate by nailing his 95 Theses to a cathedral door in Latin. Maybe I should give him more credit, but I doubt very seriously that he had any inkling of what would eventually happen.

I am the pastor of a small church. I do what pastors do -- preaching, teaching, praying, counseling, studying, discipling. I wonder sometimes about the impact I am having. A few generations after I have died, odds are that no one on this sphere will remember me or my ministry. But it is the business of the triune God to build the church (Isa 56:8; Matt 16:18; Eph 1:22-23). I do not know through whom or how He will do it. Martin Luther and his anonymous translator remind me of that and give me both joy and hope.

Humbled by divine election

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him." I remember reading Ephesians 1:3-4 during the summer of 1993, the summer before my sophomore year of high school. All of the freshmen Bible studies for Campus Crusade at Northwestern University were going to study Ephesians during the Fall Quarter. I had been asked to lead a study, so I was studying through the book ahead of time. I had begun trusting in Christ only two years earlier, and did not know Ephesians very well. These verses stunned and shook me to my core.

Before I knew it, I began seeing divine election throughout the Bible: Isaiah 41:8-10; 43:6-7; John 6:36-40; 15:16; Acts 13:48; Romans 8:29-30; 9:6-29; I Peter 1:1-2; Revelation 13:8; 17:8. It was plain enough that God's "knowing" or "foreknowing" meant more than knowing about someone. It meant that His affections were set upon that someone. And a larger pattern of God's sovereignty began to emerge: the calling of Abraham, Israel's election from among the nations, the election of Isaac over Ishmael, of Jacob over Esau. I began to see the sovereignty of God over all the events of my life (Psalm 139:13-16; Proverbs 16:9; 20:24; Matthew 6:25-34; James 4:13-16). And if over all the events of my life, then surely over my salvation as well.

But I missed a few things along the way. Too often I have been too eager to debate what "foreknowledge" means, or whether salvific election is exclusively corporate or embraces individual election as well. There is a place for such debates. The Scriptures do not shy away from election, so neither should we. Too much additional doctrine and ethical implication are built upon election for us not to care about getting it right. But I fear I bruised more than a few brothers and sisters in Christ, and perhaps turned them away from the doctrines of grace, in my eagerness to be right.

What did I miss? The pastoral concern of the apostles and prophets in talking about election. This is a doctrine that is supposed to strengthen quaking knees and crush proud hearts. God would calm our fears and prepare us for trials by reminding us that we are chosen and therefore unshakable. Election is an act of divine love, grounding our sense of security in the Father's affections by a decision made before we can even say "before." Jesus challenges His listeners and exposes the hardness of their hearts by confronting them with the reality of sovereign choice.

Divine election humbles me -- or it should humble me -- because it clearly shows that there is no reason for God to love me outside of Himself. Let that sink in for a moment. Compare it with the relationships we enjoy with other human beings. Almost every relationship we have exists because of some sort of mutual benefit, or mutual attraction, or mutual enjoyment. We love what is lovable. We choose what is attractive or beneficial. If I am loved, it is because there is something about me that someone else likes. And that is an occasion for pride -- I am loved, so there must be something good or lovely about me.

But that is not how God's election works. His election has nothing to do with anything in us. Why does He choose whom He chooses? That is a mystery caught up in the hidden counsel of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit before the worlds began. Certainly there is nothing attractive about sinful, rebellious, hostile, traitorous human beings. The consequence of God's election of His people was the sending of the Son to die in order to save them. And yet God chose.

When I am mindful of election, I am laid low by it. And only in that lowliness do any of us find freedom to serve and obey God with joy and without pretention. Perhaps, rather than a quick and ready wit, a humbled heart and changed attitude would do help to persuade others of the greatness of our God.

Humble Orthodoxy

I recently finished Collin Hansen's excellent book Young, Restless, Reformed. He quotes the following from Joshua Harris:

Behold the truth revealed in the Word of God. Commit to believe in it. Represent it with humility. This is what we call humble orthodoxy... In view of the fact that we were dead in our sins, the only reason we see anything in ourselves is because [God] chose to pour out his grace in our lives. That's why there's no place for [arrogance]... If your theology doesn't shape you, then you haven't understood it.

Though I read them several days ago, Harris' words have remained on my mind. As one of those young Reformed pastors Hansen was writing about, if my theology does not produce humility within me, then I have not really understood it. J. I. Packer writes this in his introduction to John Owen's The Death of Death in the Death of Christ (which is dense and rich enough that I'm only chipping away at it a few pages at a time):

Calvinism is something much broader than the "five points" [of the TULIP acrostic] indicate. Calvinism is a whole world-view, stemming from a clear vision of God as the whole world's Maker and King... a theocentric way of thinking about all of life under the direction and control of God's own Word.

And later he writes, "We are saved entirely by divine grace through a faith which is itself God's gift and flows to us from Calvary."

If Harris and Packer are right (and I think they are), then what room is there in my life for any degree of self-centeredness or arrogance? What room is there for boasting, unless it be in the cross of Christ? What room is there for being impatient or argumentative, when no degree of cleverness on my part contributed to my salvation?

So in the next few posts (which I hope will come more frequently now), I would like to spend some time thinking through some theological convictions and how they ought, if genuinely believed, to produce deeper humility, patience, holiness, and love. Maybe we can grow together in the kind of "humble orthodoxy" espoused by so many of the people Hansen writes about, even as it was displayed in the lives of so many of the Puritans they draw inspiration from.

The Refreshment of Fellowship

Last week was the annual conference for the Eastern District of the EFCA. This is my third year in the Eastern District, and it is the third conference my wife and I have attended. We have looked forward to it all year, and it did not disappoint. In fact, I cannot imagine not attending the EDA conference as long as I am ministering in the district.

What is it that makes these conferences so refreshing for us? There was interesting and helpful teaching, including two excellent sermons, a presentation on the research findings in UnChristian by one of the authors, as well as workshops on worship, pastoral ministry, and community engagement. But as good as all of that was, it was not why we looked forward to the conference or why we look back so fondly. Nor was it the musical worship, though we enjoyed that as well. It was not the book table -- I made no purchases at this conference (not because there was nothing to buy, but because I have already spent my book budget for the year).

We found the conference so refreshing because of the fellowship we enjoyed there. Among the other pastors, pastors' wives, church planters, and district staff at the conference we were able to enjoy the many blessings of relaxed, unguarded fellowship. We were able to take off the "pastor hat" and safely confess both our struggles (Gal 6:2) and our sins (Jas 5:16). We shared meals while discussing our lives, our ministries, and what God is teaching us through the Scriptures (Acts 2:42). We prayed and sang together with joy and gladness (Col 3:16). We shared our dreams and vision to see our churches grow through evangelism and discipleship, having an impact beginning in our communities and extending around the world (Phil 2:2). We glorified God together for the greatness of His being, the excellence of His character, and the majesty of His works. We made much of God together. And as a result, my wife and I came home with a bigger picture of what God is doing in our district and around the world. We came away with our hearts strengthened. I think that is what fellowship is supposed to do (Phm 6).

I am already looking forward to next year.