Dan Olinger

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 6: Turning Toward the Light

October 15, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Acknowledging the Divide | Part 3: “Great Is Diana!” | Part 4: Letting Hate Drive | Part 5: Pants on Fire

This series has been pretty dark so far, hasn’t it?

There’s a reason for that.

In this passage Paul begins by discussing the kinds of behaviors we ought to avoid, those than eventuate in division.

But now he turns toward the light: he lays out a course of behavior that lowers tension, that encourages people to live peaceably together.

It’s the way God’s people are supposed to live.

And as I’ve noted earlier, this lifestyle—what the KJV calls “conversation”—not only brings unity and peace to the family of God, who are empowered by the Spirit to live this way, but it brings ripple effects to the larger society by making God’s people agents of peace rather than turmoil.

Of course, the Truth of Christ does bring division; Jesus said so himself (Lk 12.51). But there is necessary division, and there is unnecessary, fleshly division, and the church need have no part in the latter when its members live out their new life in Christ.

So what is the lifestyle of light? What does it look like?

Paul lays out the specifics for us:

¹⁰and [since you] have put on the new self who is being renewed to a true knowledge according to the image of the One who created him— ¹¹a renewal in which there is no distinction between Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and freeman, but Christ is all, and in all.

¹²So, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience; ¹³bearing with one another, and forgiving each other, whoever has a complaint against anyone; just as the Lord forgave you, so also should you. ¹⁴Beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity. ¹⁵Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful. ¹⁶Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with thankfulness in your hearts to God. ¹⁷Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.

There’s a lot to consider here. Let me suggest a rough structure to guide us as we do that:

The shared image of God serves as a basis for our unity across cultural divisions (Col 3.10-11).

The fact that God has forgiven believers serves as a basis for how we treat others, including those who have not yet received that forgiveness (Col 3.12-13).

Living out our unity as a body serves as a powerful invitation to those on the outside, who see the distinction between what we experience and what they do:
- Love (Col 3.14)
- Peace (Col 3.15)
- Encouragement (Col 3.16)
- Gratitude (Col 3.17)

We’ll begin to walk this brightly lit path in the posts to come.

There is no joy like the joy of walking in the light.

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 5: Pants on Fire

October 12, 2020 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Acknowledging the Divide | Part 3: “Great Is Diana!” | Part 4: Letting Hate Drive

Paul has identified 2 ways that we bring division to our societies: 1) unrestrained sexual thinking and behavior (Col 3.5), and 2) unrestrained hatred (Col 3.8). He turns now to a third way: disregard for the truth.

Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices (Col 3.9).

I’ve written on this topic before. It astonishes me—though it probably shouldn’t—how much falsehood is being circulated in our society by people who ought to know better.

The people I’m noticing ought to know better for several reasons—

They’re generally older and more experienced in life, and we used to think that age and experience brought wisdom.

They were educated in a day when the education system was less relativistic—that is, when educators generally thought that there was such a thing as “truth” and that it could be determined by careful observation and analysis. They were supposed to have learned how to do research and how to recognize unreliable sources.

Most important, these are people who claim—and I want to accept their claim—to have walked with Christ, who is the Truth, for many years; to have learned from his Word; and to have sought to follow it.

It’s not fair to expect such people, or any people, to be right all the time, but it is reasonable to expect them to take care to discern the truth, especially before they propagate it.

So why the misinformation?

I’d suggest several contributing factors:

Desperation. The loudest voices in our culture these days seem to be people who think we’re about to fall off a cliff culturally, and that it’s up to us to prevent that fall. While it’s certainly right to seek the welfare of the community where God has placed us (Jer 29.7), and to exercise our privileges when we live, by God’s kind providence, in a participatory governmental system, God’s people must do so in a way that trusts him for the outcome rather than living in fear of undesired results or in desperation to benefit at any cost. Desperation is a fundamentally unbiblical attitude.

Confirmation bias. We humans think we’re right—we would be acting insanely if we didn’t—and we enjoy having the rightness of our views confirmed. That’s natural. But if the Scripture tells us anything, it’s that “natural” is not a synonym for “good” (1Co 2.14). The Lord tells us to distrust our inclinations, to be suspicious of our natural ways of thinking (Jer 17.9). As we can easily discern when we consider anyone who disagrees with us, confirmation bias is just a form of pride: it’s our seeking for approval through the praise of our own thinking and conclusions. Admitting that you’re wrong is a humbling experience.

Tribalism. By this I don’t mean having a circle of like-minded people; we all do that, and it can be lived out in a healthy way. I mean the tendency to withdraw into such a circle and to exclude those outside. These days this problem is exacerbated by social media. The algorithms of Facebook and other social media platforms tend to shrink rather than expand the number of ideas we interact with. We get offered “friend suggestions” of people who think the same way we do. We’re channeled, like cattle, into herds that are capable only of reinforcing the ideas we express most passionately. In that situation, our ideas will likely not be challenged in any kind of thoughtful way, and the only expressions of opposing ideas will be simplistic and cartoonish, just so we can dismiss them without serious thought.

And so we express ourselves by passing on some claim that we got from someone who agrees with us, and we don’t check it because it’s obviously true. And within minutes scores of our “friends” congratulate us for being so brave and insightful and smart, and the rush of endorphins propels us like a Waikiki wave on to our next absurd oversimplification—our next lie.

Rather than sensing the quiet voice of the Spirit in conviction of our carelessness, we revel in the praise of “friends” we barely know, just because there are so many of them.

And the division spreads.

We sow, and we reap.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 4: Letting Hate Drive

October 8, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Acknowledging the Divide | Part 3: “Great Is Diana!”

Paul continues his description of the mindset that yields division:

But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth (Col 3.8).

These descriptors have to do with our relationships, or our social structure.

We all know what “anger” is. Sometimes it’s right to be angry; God is angered and is perfectly righteous. In this context, though, the anger is against another person, and it is clearly unjustified.
“Wrath” is intense anger. Now you’re not just angry; you’re headed toward losing control of yourself, blinding your decision-making capabilities, and responding—reacting—in ways that are not only unwise but sinful.
“Malice” is a feeling of hate, the kind of feeling that encourages you to harm someone in some way—with a word, with an action, secretly or openly.
“Slander” is simply the Greek word “blasphemy.” It’s most commonly used, as we all know, of saying something about God that isn’t true, but here it clearly describes one hurtful action you can take toward someone you hate: you can say something that damages him.
“Obscene talk” is any speech that is culturally disapproved; in our culture we can include scatological as well as sexual speech.

There’s clearly a progression here. You get angry at another person, and as that anger festers and ferments in your mind, it intensifies to the point that it begins to dominate your thinking, and you begin to fantasize about how justified you would feel if something bad were to happen to him. It’s a short step from there to thinking about how you personally might bring such a thing to pass. Not wanting to spend the rest of your life in prison, you begin by doing what you can without opening yourself to felony charges: you say things. You describe the person in dehumanizing terms; you call him a “libtard” or a “POS” or a “shrub” or “President Orange” or an “occasional cortex.” You reduce him to a single characteristic, and a bad one. You express your desire for disaster to befall him. I hope he gets COVID and dies. I hope he gets deported. I hope he moves to Venezuela and enjoys his socialism.

These days our natural tendency toward such things is encouraged by the fact that we all have a universal outlet for expressing ourselves. In the old days, publishing was expensive, and if you wanted to get your thoughts distributed, you had to go to somebody with a significant capital investment in publishing hardware and convince him that your message was worth disseminating—in other words, that he’d sell enough to recoup his investment. Nowadays, as we all know, you can self-publish to the entire universe, or at least to those who speak your language, with just a mouse click. No editorial gatekeeper, no censorship, no need to stop and think for a minute about the consequences of what you’re doing.

I can recall the optimism in the early days of the internet. No censorship! Power to the people! Tiananmen Square! Tahrir Square! Pop-up demonstrations! The end of smuggling! The end of dictatorship!

We’ve begun to realize that fallen humans do not always thrive in an environment like that. As with every other technology, a force multiplier can and will be used for evil as well as good—and often in greater numbers.

So in a moment we tell all the world what we think about that so-and-so.

Such thinking denies the existence and work of God. It treats human beings as objects—despicable, disgusting, repulsive objects, like scat—rather than creatures in the image of God, products of his hands, and objects of his love. It presents Jesus Christ as a fool, one who dies for things that are not worth saving. It treats God’s Word as worthless, its judgments and commands as so much verbiage.

It is deeply and fundamentally blasphemous.

And blasphemy, because it is at its core untrue and therefore unnatural, will always yield chaos.

What other outcome could there possibly be?

We sow, and we reap.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 3: “Great Is Diana!”

October 5, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Acknowledging the Divide

In contrasting the two ways of life, Paul begins with the one that inevitably yields division and fragmentation, characterized by “what is earthly” (ESV):

⁵Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. ⁶On account of these the wrath of God is coming. ⁷In these you too once walked, when you were living in them. ⁸But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth. ⁹Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices (Col 3.5-9).

For efficiency’s sake, I’m going to discuss these characteristics in three groups: 1) unrestrained sexual thinking and behavior (immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry); 2) unrestrained hatred (anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk); and 3) untruthfulness (Do not lie to one another). One post for each group.

The characteristics Paul lists in verse 5 center in misdirected sexual passion.

“Sexual immorality” is a general term for any illicit sexual activity; it’s the root of our word pornography. It includes fornication, adultery, prostitution, and other disallowed sexual intercourse. The ancient Jewish writing Sirach, or Ecclesiasticus, speaks of such a person as one to whom “any bread tastes good”—he is so driven by his desires that “he will not leave off until he dies” (Sir 23.17).
“Impurity” speaks of defilement in general, and in the context of sexual sin it is the defilement that results from sexual immorality, which renders one excluded from followship with God and even with society.
“Passion” is the word more commonly translated “lust”; it’s a driving desire, and the term is almost always used of an evil desire.
“Evil desire” is lust on steroids (Rom 1.24, 26)—uncontrollable, a defining habit that takes over a person’s thinking and consequently his behavior. It’s what our society might call “sex addiction.”

The inclusion of “covetousness” here might surprise us, in that we don’t use the word solely of sexual sin. But it perfectly encapsulates the sexual sins that Paul has just listed. The person in question is driven by his desire for something he doesn’t have, something that doesn’t belong to him. He disregards his marriage vows—the most important promises he has ever made—and the resulting social disengagement in his relationship with his Creator and with his social circle. He counts it all as worthless in comparison to the driving madness of his lust, which grows more dominating and controlling every time he feeds it. He has turned the most significant social act imaginable into a completely self-focused one.

Paul concludes that what he has been describing is simply idolatry: the worship of—the giving of oneself completely to—an illegitimate power that will demand all one has and, like every other false god, will never be able to satisfy a divine creation. All because, in essence, he worships himself and denies the significance of the rest of humanity.

It’s a perfect example of what Paul describes elsewhere as “worshiping the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever” (Ro 1.25).

Any society thus dominated by its lust will do whatever it takes to satisfy it. It will break long-standing and deep relationships; it will act with violence; it will find deference to social and political bonds impossible.

Can you think of a society like that?

Our political and religious landscape is littered with leaders who exemplify this kind of thinking and action—so densely so that there’s no need to name any examples. And we have chosen to follow them. We have elected them, or we have joined their churches. We have rejected evidence that a problem exists, because this leader or that one is just too effective, too important, too necessary. We have made idols of our self-centered political and religious desires, and they have treated us the way false gods always do.

What other outcome of our complete social disregard should we expect, than the disintegration and fragmentation that we see all around us?

What other outcome could there possibly be?

We sow, and we reap.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 2: Acknowledging the Divide

October 1, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction

Paul writes a letter to the Christians in Colossae because he’s heard things that trouble him. There’s false teaching there, and some in the church are at least thinking about going that way—elevating the role of angels, embracing various restrictions in order to feel more godly. Paul, knowing that falsehood always brings division, writes to straighten things out with the truth.

He begins with the simple fact that Christ is all—he created all (Co 1.16); he maintains all (Co 1.17); he is the King (Co 1.13); and he is the source of our spiritual life (Co 1.14). He has first place in everything (Co 1.18). He is the one in whom all things are reconciled to God (Co 1.20ff)—and by logical extension, to one another as well. Christ’s cross is the basis for whatever peace there is in the universe.

As a result, all the world is divided into two groups: those who are “in Christ,” and those who are not; those who live for eternal goals, and those who are consumed with the present. It should be no surprise that the latter group will be in perpetual conflict, since temporal goals—power, wealth, prestige, resources—are in finite supply. Someone’s going to have the power—the privilege, if you will—and others aren’t—and those others are going to want it badly enough to fight for it.

But those living for eternity, and not merely for the next election—and the power and resources it will bring—are not inclined to live as combatants for those temporal things; they have other desires, and the fulfillment of those desires is guaranteed by divine omnipotence.

Given their different goals, desires, and levels of confidence, these two groups live in very different ways. While many passages of Scripture (e.g. Ga 5.19-23; Ep 4.17-32; 1Th 4.3-10; 1P 2.1-3) contrast these two lifestyles, Paul’s discussion in Colossians benefits from being based directly on the Christology he’s presented earlier in the letter. When he moves from the doctrinal disquisition to the application of those truths to lifestyle, he sharply contrasts these two ways of life.

In Colossians 3.5-9 Paul summarizes the old way of life, which is the standard lifestyle for what he elsewhere calls “the natural man” (1Co 2.14)—which is all of us, from birth. This is the default lifestyle in the US and everywhere else. It’s a lifestyle that naturally eventuates in division, and in certain circumstances, all the way to civil war.

But that’s not the way people with eternal priorities live. Those who are “in Christ”—through no merit of their own—live, or ought to live, in ways that not only avoid those disastrous divisions but often help to heal them even in the broader societies in which they reside. Paul lays those characteristics out in the next paragraph, Colossians 3.10-17.

On this passage one commentator remarks,

The outstanding feature of this part of the letter is the sharp contrast between the old life and the new … . It is salutary to ponder the characteristics of the one for a while, to sense its whole mood and style of life, and then to switch suddenly to the other. They are indeed worlds apart. In the one we find attitudes and behaviour that cause inevitable fragmentation in human society and even within individuals: in the other, a way of life which integrates both individual persons and groups of people. The former, in other words, steadily obliterates genuinely human existence: the latter enhances it (Wright, Colossians, Tyndale NT Commentary, 133-34).

“Genuinely human existence”—as designed by the human’s Creator, in his image (Gn 1.26-27), for a redeemed and righted world. That’s where our heads should be, even when the world we live in is still broken and fundamentally unsatisfying—in the most significant ways, still “unformed and unfilled” (Gn 1.2) but headed toward a glorious and certain future.

This is where we find ourselves. What remains is for God’s people to define, examine, and contrast the two lifestyles and to adopt the one appropriate to our spiritual state.

We’ll start on that in the next post.

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 1: Introduction

September 28, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

It’s not news to anybody that US culture is highly polarized and has been for some time. This polarization shows up most readily in political disputes, and especially in presidential election years, when all the disputes come to a head and when the consequences of victory and defeat are most clearly obvious.

Presidential elections have always been rowdy affairs in this country, at least since Adams v Jefferson in 1796. Some are rowdier than others, of course—Adams/Jackson (1824), Hayes/Tilden (1876), and Nixon/Humphrey (1968) come immediately to mind. Anybody currently over the age of 40 knows that every election since 1992 has been “the most important election of our lifetime.”

Even so, it feels like this year is extraordinary. There’s been fighting in the streets that reminds us old-timers of 1968, combined with a general sense of being on edge due to all the coronavirus issues. Adding fuel to the fire is the fact that with social media, now every nitwit can be a publisher, with no editorial constraints—and we all know nitwits who are taking advantage of the opportunity. And now there’s a third vacancy on the Supreme Court in just 4 years.

Polarization. Tribalism. And lots of fuel to pour on that fire. Historians know that a key cause of the Civil War was sectionalism, and to them all this is looking pretty familiar. Here the divide is not as clearly geographical as it was 160 years ago—which in some ways makes the situation even worse—but it’s still eerily familiar.

And so there’s open talk about civil war. Red vs blue. Urban vs rural. Liberal vs conservative. And unsurprisingly, the joke about one side having all the guns doesn’t ease the tension.

I’d suggest that the solutions most commonly bandied about aren’t solutions at all.

Force—and the unconditional surrender of one of the parties—isn’t a long-term solution, as World Wars 1 and 2 so clearly taught us. The simmering rage of humiliation eventually breaks out again, and the second time is often worse than the first.

Appeasement doesn’t work either—again, as the World Wars demonstrated. (Think Neville Chamberlain.) When two sides each see the other as the enemy of their aspirations, eventually they’re going to resort to force.

In our situation the problem is compounded by the sheer number of things that divide us. We’re divided by race; by economic status; by political philosophy; by sex. These divisions go to the very core of our perceived identity; we’re not going to compromise them.

We can avoid civil war only by finding some part of our identity that is more powerful than the things that divide us. For many years, our shared identity as Americans was enough to do that. Often it’s the existence of a common threat, as in World War 2 and again for a few months after 9/11. For much of my lifetime there have been those arguing for unity on the basis of our shared humanity—who usually are dismissed as dreamers in the image of John Lennon.

I’d like to suggest that the Scripture speaks repeatedly of something that breaks down the racial and sexual and political and economic barriers that persistently divide us—and, perhaps surprisingly, it is based, in a specific way, in our shared humanity. The Bible doesn’t just dangle this idea out there as a carrot to get the kids fighting in the back seat to finally get along (and, I suppose, to stop mixing their metaphors); on the contrary, it presents the unity of peoples across significant barriers as a central part of the plan of God—something that he not only desires but is applying his divine power to accomplish with absolute certainty: that “God [is] in Christ reconciling the world unto himself” (2Co 5.19), so that “there is neither Jew nor Greek, … slave nor free man, … male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Ga 3.28), toward the goal of “a great multitude which no one could count, from every nation and all tribes and peoples and tongues, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes” (Re 7.9)—a unity so spectacular, so unimaginable, and so unbelievable even by those witnessing it, “that the manifold wisdom of God might now be made known through the church to the rulers and the authorities in the heavenly places” (Ep 3.10); that is, that even supernatural beings are taken by surprise.

Wow.

There are lots of places in the Scripture where we can read about these ideas. I’ve chosen a section of Paul’s letter to the Colossian church, where I’ve been studying this month. We’ll embark on that study in the next post.

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

On Jesus’ Baptism—and Our Incompetent Repentance

September 24, 2020 by Dan Olinger 4 Comments

We all know the story of Jesus’ baptism by John in the Jordan. We know that God chose this event to reveal publicly his approval of Jesus as “My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (Mt 3.18). We know that this event is one of the clearest exhibitions of the Trinity in the Scripture, with the Father speaking from heaven, the Son standing in the Jordan, and the Spirit descending like a dove and landing on the Son.

But as familiar as this story is to us, we find ourselves still wondering, with John, why Jesus came to John to be baptized. As John protested, “You should be baptizing me!” Was this just Jesus’ way of announcing the onset of his public ministry? And if so, what did Jesus mean when he said, “This is necessary for us to fulfill all righteousness”?

There’s been a lot of ink spilled by writers of commentaries over these questions. When that happens, it usually means that the Scripture itself doesn’t give a clear answer to them. And when that happens, the systematic theologians step in and offer speculation—ideally, well founded and scripturally based.

I’d like to do that here.

To begin with, we should notice what John intended his baptism to mean. He called it “a baptism of repentance” (Lk 3.3; Mt 3.11); by agreeing to be baptized, people were acknowledging their sins and turning from them (Lk 3.10ff). And this makes the image of Jesus’ baptism all the more odd—and John’s objection to it all the more sensible—since Jesus had nothing to repent of.

Which brings us to our second consideration—Jesus’ statement of his own purpose in being baptized: “to fulfill all righteousness.”

What does that mean?

Perhaps we should consider his words against the larger theological significance of his incarnation. He came, of course, to die for the sins of mankind (Mk 10.45). But in order to get to that point, he had to present himself as a spotless lamb; he had to demonstrate his own sinlessness through a perfect life, the perfect fulfillment of the Law, thereby putting in place a righteousness that could be reckoned to our account (2Co 5.21). Theologians call this his “active obedience.”

That done, he offered himself up, dying on the cross in our place—vicariously—paying our sin debt and putting us into position to receive his righteousness, also earned vicariously.

He lived in our place, and he died in our place. He fulfilled all righteousness for us.

Hmmm.

That’s what he said to John, back at the baptism—remember?

The baptism was necessary, he said, “to fulfill all righteousness.”

The baptism of repentance.

Which he didn’t need. Because he didn’t need to repent.

What if—what if—he repented for us?

We’re terrible at repenting, you know.

We tell God we’re sorry, and we’ll never do it again.

And we’re not lying. We mean it.

But we do do it again, don’t we?

In spite of all our good intentions, and in spite of all we can do, we break the most important vow we ever make to God.

We can’t even repent right.

We’re miserable failures.

What if, at his baptism, Jesus offered the Father a repentance that was worthy of the name?

What if he repented—and never went back on his promise?

And what if that perfect repentance was offered to the Father—for us?

In our place!

“Let me do this,” Jesus said to John.

“It’s necessary to fulfill all righteousness.”

If I don’t do this, nobody else ever will. My Father will never get a decent repentance. I’ll do it for him. And for them.

And over the next 3 years, the Father received a repentance, and a life of obedience, and a sacrificial payment for sin, that were all perfect. In our name, and credited to our account.

Perfect. For us.

Photo by Ryan Loughlin on Unsplash

On Retreating

September 21, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

I’ve just returned from the annual BJU Seminary retreat at The WILDS in North Carolina. The event made several impressions on me, all of them positive:

I drove one of the vans up, carrying 7 students, both graduate and undergrad. As it happened, mine was the “late van,” leaving well after the main vehicle surge, to enable students with late commitments to attend. The van was filled with chatter and laughter as the students interacted as friends and colleagues in this adventure called school. They know they’re having a good time, but they probably don’t realize to what extent these experiences, and especially the relationships and interactions, are formative, changing them in ways that will endure for decades. We have serious conversations as well, about doctrine and ministry and the questions that most young people in this stage of life wrestle with. If Jesus tarries, I’m confident that this generation will carry well the load that their times place on them. I’m especially sure of that when I recall that my generation grew up in the 60s, when our parents had every reason to despair of the future—the times, they were indeed a-changin’—and by God’s grace we carried our load as well.

The WILDS is a remarkable resource. It’s designed for its purpose—to enable fellowship with one another and with God—and it’s run by people who are committed to that purpose, who are competent, and who are as selfless as any I’ve ever met. Every time I go there I see some other activity or facility set up, ready to increase the overall strength of the program and reinforce the mission. I have lots of memories there—the record for terminal velocity hitting the post at the bottom of the land trolley is one that I’m particularly proud of—and all of them tied directly to experiences with God and with his people in ways that have influenced my thinking and direction in life. They have been an unmitigated blessing to me.

The Seminary is a grace-filled institution, with faculty who combine solid biblical scholarship with whole-hearted devotion. It’s good to see that balance maintained in the fifth decade after I studied there.

General revelation is indeed revelation. Every camp ministry knows that when you get people out into nature, their thoughts tend to turn Godward. All our senses are bombarded with evidence of the Creator’s greatness and goodness—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes, the textures all draw us back to our roots in him, to his ample and rich provision for us as inhabitants of this planet, and to the wonder of what he has done in creating a world at once complex, beautiful, and calming. In the artful words of Odell Shepard,

All the wisdom, all the beauty, I have lived for unaware
Came upon me by the rote of highland rills;
I have seen God walking there
In the solemn soundless air,
When the morning wakened wonder in the hills.

But these beauties are not gods. They are rather gifts from the One True God, to be delighted in, but not to satisfy apart from him. As we were reminded in the sessions by our former colleague Dr. Robert Vincent, Christ is all, and he is more than enough. To delight in his gifts, but to have no meaningful relationship with him, is to miss the whole point. To delight in him is to be fulfilled in the only ways that matter. By a kind providence, my personal Bible study during August and September is in Colossians, where Bob’s point this past weekend is precisely Paul’s point. We are offered many substitutes for Christ—the Colossians were offered angels—but he is before all, above all, over all, and he is Enough.

What a gift of 26 hours filled with reminders of God’s goodness and greatness. The surroundings, the people, the shared experiences, the worship, the time with God, all serve together to draw us to him, to extract our thanks, to strengthen us for the tasks that lie ahead.

God is great, and God is good.

Let us thank him.

Photo by Wes Grant on Unsplash

On Filling Up Our Sins

September 17, 2020 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

They are not pleasing to God, but hostile to all men, ¹⁶hindering us from speaking to the Gentiles so that they may be saved; with the result that they always fill up the measure of their sins. But wrath has come upon them to the utmost (1Th 2.15b-16).

Paul is writing here of his unconverted Jewish opponents, those who followed him around from city to city and tried to undercut his evangelistic and church-planting work. In the process of noting their doom, he uses an odd expression: “they fill up the measure of their sins.”

What does that mean? And is it unique to Paul’s Jewish opponents, or is this something that other cultures should be wary of?

I think it’s easier to answer the first question if we begin by answering the second.

Similar language appears in 3 other places in the Scripture:

In Genesis 15.16, God tells Abram that his descendants will be exiled for 400 years, after which they will return to the Promised Land of Canaan, “for the iniquity of the Amorite is not yet full.” Here we learn that God is showing mercy to the Canaanites, whose land God has promised to Abram and his descendants, by giving them 400 years to repent (or, as my Dad would have said, “straighten up”). God knows, as he knows all things, that they won’t repent, but rather “fill up” their sins, bringing judgment on themselves.

In his prophecy of the coming world kingdoms, Daniel reveals (Dn 8.23) that an evil ruler (commonly interpreted to be Antiochus IV “Epiphanes”) will arise “when the transgressors have filled up.”* Again, the context is of evil cultures exceeding all moral norms and “maxxing out” their sinfulness.

Finally, in his condemnation of the scribes and Pharisees of his day, Jesus tells them to “fill up … the measure of the guilt of your fathers … from the blood of the righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah … whom you murdered between the Temple and the altar” (Mt 23.32-35). He concludes the outburst by saying, “Truly I say to you, all these things will come upon this generation” (Mt 23.36). That is, the bowl of guilt has been filled to the brim; it’s time for judgment. And what a judgment it was—the city of Jerusalem and the cherished Temple reduced to rubble, and the Jewish people scattered to the four winds for nearly 1900 years.

The picture in all these passages is consistent. Mankind, inclined to evil, rejects God’s will and pursues his own. In kindness and grace, God withholds punishment, giving mankind ample opportunity to come to his senses and repent, righting the wrongs that he has perpetrated. But he sees the apparent lack of punishment as “getting away with it,” and he accelerates down the slope of rebellion without compunction or restraint.

But God is just as well as merciful, and his compassionate mercy does not allow for perpetual unrighted injustice. A day of reckoning will surely come. The vessel of sin will eventually be full, and the time for justice will arrive. Wrong will be righted. The offender will be held to account.

Since God does not change, this principle applies to our culture as certainly as to any in the past. We live in a society that is rapidly filling up the measure of its sins—in its arrogance against God and his people, in its rejection of his wise design for sexual behavior, in its worship of all things temporal, in its love for violence, in its denial of justice to the poor and otherwise powerless and favoritism toward the powerful and favored.

God’s people can take comfort in the surety of coming justice, from a God who can execute it in ways far more just, pervasive, and thorough than anything we can devise for ourselves.

* For the nerds among my readers, I note that the verb “filled up” in 1 Thessalonians is anapleroo, the same verb in the Septuagint (LXX) of Gn 15.16. The verb in Daniel (LXX) and Matthew is pleroo.

Photo by Santiago Lacarta on Unsplash

“What Do You want from Me, God?” Part 4: A Humble Walk

September 14, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Justice | Part 3: Mercy

He has told you, O man, what is good;
And what does the Lord require of you
But to do justice, to love mercy,
And to walk humbly with your God? (Mic 6.8)

Walk humbly.

Unlike the previous two, this one has two parts: there’s humility, and there’s walking with God.

First, the humility.

Frankly, God shouldn’t have to say this.

Have you ever interacted personally with somebody famous? For most of us, buzzing in the back of our head the whole time is the realization that we shouldn’t even be there, talking with this famous person. He’s famous, and rich, and powerful, and here he is talking to little old us. Plus, he’s famous.

We can hardly believe it’s happening.

Even being in the presence of certain people humbles us.

How much more—how much more—should we be humbled to walk with our heavenly Father?

And in that state, how can we possibly be arrogant or unfeeling toward our fellow believers—or toward an unbeliever, in whose shoes we so recently and unhappily walked, only to be rescued by this Father through no merit of our own?

Humbly is the way we should walk.

And that is the second part—walking with our God.

It’s often been observed that salvation—conversion—is not a fire escape; it’s just the beginning of a lifetime of growing in Christ and an eternity of walking with God. That’s the structural theme of Ephesians, and Colossians, and Galatians, and Romans, and Hebrews, all of which move from a doctrinal section, filled with indicative verbs, to an application section, filled with imperatives.

And so we are designed to spend our earthly lives walking with an invisible God.

There are two kinds of walking, of going on a journey.

The first kind is typified by an elevator ride.

You get on, and if there’s another person there, you both become completely enraptured by the little row of numbered lights above the door.

1 … 2 … 3 …

You stare at them like you’ve never seen anything so interesting.

4 … 5 … oh, look! There’s a 6!

How can we explain this odd behavior?

You don’t talk to people on elevators. It’s just not done.

Because the experience is all about getting where you’re going. It’s not about the journey.

But there’s another kind of journey. It’s best typified by lovers going for a walk.

Man: Do you want to go for a walk?
Woman: Why? Where are we going?

That’s not how the conversation goes. “Going for a walk” isn’t about the destination; it’s about the fellowship along the way. Nobody cares where we’re going; we’re just going for a walk.

We just want to be together.

“Walk humbly with thy God.”

Isn’t it remarkable that the God of the universe, the One who is perfectly satisfied in himself, to whom we cannot possibly be intellectually stimulating, comes to us every morning and asks,

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

And isn’t it even more remarkable how often we respond with

“I don’t know. Where are we going? Is this going to hurt?”

“Is this going to hurt?” indeed. How much do you suppose our response hurts the God who comes to us just seeking to spend some time together, to fellowship, to relish the relationship?

How much?

We are an infinitely privileged people, we people of the living God. The Creator of heaven and earth, the King of kings and Lord of lords, seeks to spend time with us, to walk together by appointment. This is for our benefit, not his. We are the privileged ones.

This is what the Lord seeks from us.

To walk humbly with our God.

Let’s not treat it like an elevator ride.

Photo by Luis Quintero on Unsplash