Bible – Page 21

On the Fruit of the Spirit, Part 2: Love

April 29, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction

Paul begins his list of Christ’s character qualities with love.

We all think we know what love is—it’s that tingling sensation we get when we “fall” for someone.

One of my seminary roommates used to call that “zing.”

Let me state for the record that zing is good. May we all experience zing, and may we rejoice in it.

But zing is not all there is to love.

If we study the word as it’s used in the New Testament, we find that while it certainly includes an emotional component, it’s much bigger than that. I think the best definition I’ve come across is from my friend and colleague Randy Leedy: “a disposition to sacrifice oneself in order to secure the benefit of the loved one.” (For a considerably deeper discussion of the complexities of the term, try this dissertation by a former student of mine, the kind webmaster of this blog.)

Love is more than just an emotion, or a choice, or an understanding. Love is a perspective and its consequences; love is the way you look at something or someone, and the decision to elevate the worth of that object above your own interests.

Once you realize this, you realize how toxic much of our culture’s view of love is. Many people, informed by the artistic expressions of the age, love people for what they can do for them—you make me feel good, you “complete” me, you make my life worth living. “I can’t live without you,” after all.

But that’s upside down and backwards. Love, genuine love, impels me to give, not to take. It impels me to think of someone else, not my own joy or pleasure or desire.

Sure, it’s complicated; there are lots of facets to genuine love. But if there’s not at its core a greater valuation of the object than of the self, then it’s not love.

What can we learn about love from the Bible? Perhaps it was J.R. Fausset who first observed that Paul is the apostle of faith; Peter is the apostle of hope; and John is the apostle of love.

In that case, let’s see what John says.

In his brief first epistle, he talks a lot about love—

God is love (1J 4.8, 16).
He expresses that love toward us (1J 3.1) by sending his Son (1J 4.9-10) to lay down his life for us (1J 3.16) even before we loved him (1J 4.9-10).
We should love God in return (1J 4.19) and show that love by obeying him (1J 2.5; 5.2-3).
We should love our brothers, because that’s one way we obey him (1J 3.23; 4.21). And we should love them genuinely, in action, not merely in words (1J 3.18).
When we love our brothers, we demonstrate that we have passed from death to life (1J 3.14); that we know God (1J 4.7-8); that God is in us (1J 4.16-17); that we’re growing in our understanding of his love (1J 4.12); and that we’re walking in his light (1J 2.10).
We should not love “the world” (1J 2.15), defined as desires that are fundamentally self-focused (“the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life,” 1J 2.16).
And we learn that mature love “casts out fear” (1J 4.18).

There’s a lot of fear these days. And a lot of that fear is being expressed by Christians.

That doesn’t make any sense. If we’re in God, we exist—“abide in”—a state of love. And if we’re living with an external, loving focus, we have no business being afraid.

Perhaps you’ve seen the meme that says, “No one, in the history of ever, has ever calmed down after being told to calm down.”

Granted.

But calm down.

In this case, there’s supernatural power involved, which ought to make the impossible possible.

How do we walk in love?

We think about others. First.
- How will what I’m about to say affect this person? Will it build him up or tear him down? Will it draw him to Christ or push him away?
We devalue our own rights and needs and wants.
- Does the fact that I have a right to free speech mean that I have to exercise it at this moment? Is my winning this argument—or even just getting in a zinger as I walk away—more important to me than the value of my opponent—who is, by the way, in the image of God (Ge 1.27), and deeply loved by him (Jn 3.16)?

Jesus observed that in nature, you identify a tree by its fruit (Mt 7.16).

Who are you?

Photo by Gabriele Lässer on Unsplash

On the Fruit of the Spirit, Part 1: Introduction

April 26, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

In the current societal turmoil, there’s a lot of suspicion toward people we disagree with, and consequently there are a lot of charges being lobbed casually back and forth between opposing camps. Any historian will tell you that you should be suspicious of one group’s descriptions of a group they oppose—that principle has come into play notably in current skepticism about descriptions of historical people groups as cannibalistic, and it even played a role in our understanding of the Ecuadorian Huaorani (not “Auca”) who killed the 5 missionaries back in 1956.

So it shouldn’t surprise us when people on the other side of an issue from us describe us inaccurately. I see broad characterizations of Christians, for example, that are demonstrably, objectively inaccurate. No, Christians are not characterized by “hate”—an all too facile accusation these days—simply because they disagree with a policy decision or a view of morality. No, they’re not “phobic”—irrationally motivated by fear, another all too facile accusation that conveniently liberates the accuser from having to answer their rational statements rationally—when they allege that a given lifestyle will carry significant negative consequences, both culturally and individually. And no, they don’t believe—and this is my favorite—that they should read the Bible “literally”—they’re not knuckle-dragging troglodytes who wouldn’t recognize a metaphor or a synecdoche if it bit ‘em on the, um, kiester.

But.

On the other hand, I see many of my Christian fellow-travelers saying and doing things that make these accusations, well, credible.

My brethren, these things ought not so to be.

Christianity is not at root a cultural position (“this is just the way I was brought up!”), a pragmatic political position (“they’re destroying our country!”), or even a change of worldview (“I see it all so clearly now!”), whether due to significant rational, emotional, or circumstantial experiences.

Christianity—personal salvation—is a work of God in the heart of a human that spiritually resurrects him from the dead and sets him on a radically different course of life, empowering him to instantiate that lifestyle consistently and progressively. A Christian—a real one—should be significantly different from the kind of person he was before, and he should get progressively better over time at resembling the character qualities of Christ.

Now, we all start out life broken morally and in many other ways, and that brokenness is never perfectly mended in this life. But we ought to have something in the way of character improvement as an unavoidable consequence of our new birth, and we ought to be making progress.

Paul speaks of this contrast in Ephesians 4, where he exhorts believers to “walk worthy of the calling with which you have been called” (Ep 4.1). Earlier in the epistle he has spoken of having been “dead in trespasses and sins” (Ep 2.1) but then “resurrected together with Christ” (Ep 2.5) and “created in Christ Jesus unto good works” (Ep 2.10).

Radical change.

For much of chapter 4, Paul contrasts the old way of life (“being alienated from the life of God,” Ep 4.18), characterized by “all uncleanness” (Ep 4.19), with the new way, “which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness” (Ep 4.24). He lists several specific examples of this new way:

We quit lying and tell the truth (Ep 4.25).
We control our anger (Ep 4.26).
We fight temptation (Ep 4.27).
We give instead of taking (Ep 4.28).
We use our words to build up rather than tear down (Ep 4.29).

And the list goes on (Ep 4.30-32), ending with kindness, tenderness, and forgiveness (Ep 4.32).

That last verse is the first one I ever memorized, in Sunday school back in 1960. After 6 decades, I’ve still got work to do, and I suspect you do too.

Paul makes the same point in an earlier epistle, contrasting the “works of the flesh” (Ga 5.19-21) with the “fruit of the Spirit” (Ga 5.22-23). The latter list amounts to a description of the character of Jesus, to whom God is conforming our character over time (Ro 8.29).

Christians are different from their fellow citizens. We’re always going to be seen as different, strange (1P 4.4), odd, even contemptible, even dangerous. It’s happened before, and it will happen again.

But as Paul’s apostolic predecessor and colleague Peter reminds us, we shouldn’t be giving them legitimate reasons to think that way about us (1P 3.14-17; 4.14-16). Suffering for Jesus is one thing; suffering because you’re not like Jesus is another thing entirely.

So it will be helpful to spend some time thinking about the fruit of the Spirit and assessing our own needs in these areas.

Next time.

Photo by Gabriele Lässer on Unsplash

On Getting Angry, Part 2: Doing It Right

April 22, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Doing It Wrong

In the last post we looked at some of the biblical warnings about anger. This time I’ll note that sometimes, according to the same Scripture, anger is justified.

The Bible speaks of a good many angry persons. The person mentioned most is—God. And by definition, if God is doing something, it’s good. His anger is justified.

Why is his anger justified?

Note that he’s not angry out of frustration that his worldview has insufficient explanatory power. He’s not angry out of selfishness. He’s not angry out of lack of control.

He’s angry out of justice and out of love. His anger is a disciplined, perfect expression of his character, and particularly his commitment to the benefit of human beings, who are in his image.

He’s angry because injustice is being committed, to the deep damage of those whom he loves. And his anger yields not chaotic destruction, but resolution. His anger motivates him to address and resolve the problem.

We should be the same kind of people.

If you see injustice, you ought to be angry. And you ought to do something—constructive—about it.

I had an experience as a middle-school student that profoundly affected my thinking on this issue.

I was riding on a city bus in greater Boston—the MBTA—when I was in 7^th or 8^th grade. I was seated sideways on the bus, facing the center aisle, toward the back. Across the aisle from me and back a ways, seated facing forward, was an old man, probably in his 70s, looking fairly frail. Behind him, on the bench that spanned the back of the bus, was a group of 3 or 4 tough-looking 20-somethings. One of them placed his muddy boot up on the old man’s seat next to him.

After a bit the man turned and quietly asked the owner of the foot if he’d mind taking his boot off the seat. The fellow replied, “Yes, I mind, and if you ask me again, I’ll take this boot and put it through your face.”

The terror on the old man’s face was evident to all of us.

At that moment a young man sitting directly across from the old man rose to his feet and said with rising anger, “The **** you will.”

Almost immediately 2 or 3 other men in the area stood as well, glaring silently at the bully.

At the commotion, the bus driver pulled over and walked to the back of the bus. When he’d determined what had happened, he told the bully to get off the bus, and his friends went with him.

The old man looked gratefully at his defender and said, “Thank you.”

And in a few minutes, when the bus completed its journey up Mt. Auburn Street to Harvard Square, we all disembarked and went our separate ways.

That was more than 50 years ago. I remember it as though it were yesterday.

Four short, one-syllable, staccato words. And justice.

Well, some folks might think that real justice would have been doing to the bully what he had threatened to do to the old man. I won’t argue with that.

But this incident, and many more similar ones that all of us could cite, demonstrate conclusively that sometimes anger—constructive anger—is exactly the right thing. In the moment that he stood and spoke, the old man’s defender, though certainly, like all of us, a flawed human being, was being profoundly virtuous; he was in fact radiating the image of God.

It’s right to be angry at injustice. It’s right to be angry at evil of any kind. And in that moment it’s right to be motivated by that anger to move beyond frustration to constructive resolution of the injustice, while maintaining purposeful self-control.

Be ye angry, and sin not (Ep 4.26).

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

On Getting Angry, Part 1: Doing It Wrong

April 19, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Do we? Or don’t we?

Should we? Or shouldn’t we?

I’m seeing a lot of anger these days, and I suspect you are too.

Interestingly, I’m not seeing much anger in my face-to-face life. There’s busyness and the stress that comes with it, but nobody is losing it in my presence these days. Maybe your experience is different.

In writing, though, it’s another story. Communication on social media is just … furious.

I wonder if there’s a reason for the difference I’m seeing. When you’re looking someone in the face, there are consequences of rage that tend to discourage you from going there. Online, though, there’s some distance—sort of like the distance between you and other drivers on the road, where you feel free to let forth with the insults, because they’ll never hear what you say. Your friends on social media will hear what you say, of course, but still there’s a sense of distance there that we don’t feel in person, and we perversely feel a little more free to let loose.

Anyhow, lots of angry people around.

As I read and consider what they have to say, I see a fair amount of frustration. A lot of people are angry because the world and the people in it are broken—by whatever definition they use—and they’re angry that it all seems so senseless and unnecessary, that there seems to be no solution. I’m reminded of the Los Angeles riots of 1991, which resulted from a police beating of a black man, Rodney King, that was captured on video. (Sound familiar?) After several days of rioting, King spoke to the press, famously asking, “Can we all get along?”—to which the answer seemed—and seems— to be, “Well, no, we can’t.”

If your worldview isn’t robust enough to account for what we’re seeing all around us, then it makes sense to be frustrated and angry. Why won’t people listen? Why won’t they do the sensible—and virtuous—thing? Why?

The anger makes sense—but at the same time, it’s not moving anything toward a solution. It’s just a visceral expression of frustration. If only. If only.

The Bible warns against some kinds of anger, especially the prideful, the uncontrolled, and the destructive:

Anger slays the foolish man (Job 5.2).
A fool’s anger is known at once (Pr 12.16).
He who is slow to anger has great understanding, but he who is quick-tempered exalts folly (Pr 14.29).
A hot-tempered man stirs up strife, but the slow to anger calms a dispute (Pr 15.18).
A man of great anger will bear the penalty, for if you rescue him, you will only have to do it again (Pr 19.19).
The pressing of anger produces strife (Pr 30.33).
Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,” says the Lord (Ro 12.19).
I am afraid that perhaps when I come … there will be strife, jealousy, angry tempers, disputes, slanders, gossip, arrogance, disturbances (2Co 12.20).
Now the deeds of the flesh are evident, which are immorality, impurity, sensuality, ²⁰idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, disputes, dissensions, factions, ²¹envying, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these, of which I forewarn you, just as I have forewarned you, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God (Ga 5.19-21).

And these verses could be multiplied.

But I’ll note that sometimes, according to the same Scripture, anger is justified.

Just One Thing …, Part 2

April 1, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1

[Sidebar: Yes, I know it’s April Fool’s Day. No, I’m not participating. I don’t think it’s funny to lie to my friends. Seriously.]

In the previous post we noted Paul’s terse description of his mental state throughout a distraction-laden life: “one thing!” (Php 3.13).

We ended that post with a simple question: “How does he do it?”

He tells us in the passage—

[On the one hand] forgetting what lies behind and [on the other hand] reaching forward to what lies ahead, ¹⁴I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus (Php 3.13-14).

I’ve cited the NASB 95 here and added the bracketed material to emphasize the polarity in Paul’s mind; he is completely abandoning one approach and completely committing himself to a different one. (Yep, that’s in the Greek.)

Forgetting the Past

Paul puts out of his mind what lies behind.

We need to note something key here: he’s in charge of his thinking; his mind is his servant, not his master.

You know, you can decide what and how you think. You can choose, by God’s grace, to think differently (Ro 12.2). It’s been suggested that what you think about when you’re not busy tells you what you care most about. Do you like what that says about you? If not, why not direct your mind elsewhere?

What he puts out of his mind is what lies behind.

What’s that?

It could be his previous success among his peers, his earthly accomplishments, as listed in Php 3.4-6. “Forgetting” those things might mean simply that he doesn’t value them anymore (Php 3.7-8). His priorities and values have shifted.
It could be the ministry difficulties and distractions that he’s talked about elsewhere (2Co 11). “Whatever comes my way in this walk toward Christlikeness, I’m going to work through it.”
It could be his own godly efforts, which so far haven’t brought him to final success (Php 3.12-13).

We all can waste a lot of time and effort focusing

on past failures—which, for the regenerate, are forgiven and forgotten by God
or on past successes—which smacks of pride and works-based approval
or on the pain of the struggle—which implies that the goal is not worth the pain

But those things are indeed insignificant, comparatively speaking.

Eyes on the Prize

By contrast—“on the other hand”—Paul throws himself completely forward, into the harness, straining every muscle, focusing every thought on reaching the goal.

I press toward the mark.

His word press is the same word he used back in verse 6 of his zeal for persecuting the church. Luke says of those days that Paul (then called Saul),

breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest, ²and asked for letters from him to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any belonging to the Way, both men and women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem (Ac 9.1-2).

Yikes.

With that kind of total commitment, he presses now toward the goal of knowing and obeying the one who set his face like flint (Is 50.7) to accomplish his own mission.

¹⁵All of us, then, who are mature should take such a view of things (Php 3.15 NIV).

Turns out this isn’t just for Paul, the super-saint. This is how all of us should think, how we all should live.

Do I?

How many hours a day do I spend on the distractions? even on the trivial?

Oh, I’m not discounting the need to take care of earthly business, or even the need for rest and recreation—that’s good stewardship. I’m not painting with a broad brush all our time on TV or social media—I use the latter to stay in touch with quite a few people.

But what have I done today to reach the existential goal—the one that is supposed to define my life and be the purpose of my existence?

But one. One thing.

Press forward.

Photo by Nicolas Hoizey on Unsplash

Just One Thing …, Part 1

March 29, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Since the New Year I’ve been engaged in a personal study of Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians. Back in January I posted a brief series about the theme of “thinking” in the epistle, and since then I’ve been noticing a lot of other things as well. My attention was captured a while back by Paul’s words in chapter 3—

¹²Not that I have already obtained it or have already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus. ¹³Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, ¹⁴I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. ¹⁵Let us therefore, as many as are perfect, have this attitude; and if in anything you have a different attitude, God will reveal that also to you; ¹⁶however, let us keep living by that same standard to which we have attained.

There’s a lot to think about here, something I think is worth spending a post or two on.

Our culture is psychically frazzled. Our thoughts are every which way, now here, now there. There’s The Outrage of the Day, which I’ve noted before. There’s the eager reporting of Bad News, likely driven more by the desire for clicks than the public’s right to know. There’s our own personal schedule pressure, which even during the lockdown phase of a pandemic is surprisingly demanding—not everybody has spent the last months bingeing on Netflix, and a great many people are hanging on by a thread. There’s worry about people who are sick, and about the loved ones of those who have died.

So many pressures—some legitimate distractions, of course, and others not so much.

Paul lived similarly. There were certainly distractions. His theological opponents were following him around the Empire, countermanding his teaching and trying to steal his sheep. His churches had problems—some, like Corinth, more than others, but even Philippi, home of his biggest fans (Php 4.14-16), had its squabbles that were apparently sufficiently significant to require apostolic intervention (Php 4.2). The demands of those churches required Paul’s daily care (2Co 11.28). And of course there are the minor issues of robbers, beatings, imprisonments, hunger, cold, and oh, the occasional shipwreck (2Co 11.23ff).

Distractions, indeed.

But in the midst of all that, Paul had a character quality that propelled his effectiveness.

He was single-minded.

He was like the police dog who, in the chaos of sirens, gunfire, and shouted commands, goes after the target with single focus, intent on the mission to the successful end.

One thing I do.

Most of the English translations supply the clause “I do” in an attempt to clarify the meaning—and there’s nothing wrong with that. But Paul doesn’t write those words; he’s writing a short, clipped sentence fragment, more of a grunt than a statement—

But one.

The word “thing” is strongly implied by the neuter gender of “one,” but even that word isn’t technically there. The KJV adds the demonstrative “this,” but that’s not there either.

But one.

Grunt. Squint. Focus. Bow. Strain. Pull.

One thing.

How do you suppose he can maintain that focus in the midst of all the interruptions, the violence, the threats, the crises?

I suppose it’s because the mission, and the goal to which it points, is infinitely more important to him than anything else in the picture.

What’s the goal? He expresses it several ways in this passage—

“knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Php 3.8; cf Php 3.10)
“be[ing] found in Him” (Php 3.9)
“attain[ing] to the resurrection from the dead” (Php 3.11)
“the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Php 3.14)

How good am I at keeping my eyes on the prize? How likely am I not to be distracted by dangerous things—or even trivial ones?

In verse 13 Paul tells us how he does that. We’ll take a look there next time.

Part 2

Photo by Nicolas Hoizey on Unsplash

The Eye of the Storm, Part 2

March 25, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1

Let’s take a closer look at Psalm 11, where we find ourselves faced with a stark choice as we deal with troublous times.

Stanza 1 includes verses 1-3. David’s advisors, having done a SWOT analysis, present him with what appears to be the only logical choice: “Run! Run for your life!”

Flee as a bird to your mountain!

And they give solid reasons: you have enemies, and they are preparing for action, which includes hidden threats to your very life. With weapons. Bad ones.

For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.

They also note the consequences of inaction.

If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?!

This is, as we say these days, an “existential threat.” The consequences are world-shaking. What we’re facing is the end of all we know and love. Oblivion.

That’s their case.

Now David presents his.

I note that he doesn’t deny the truth of their facts. He’s not careless, disengaged, distracted, or apathetic. “There are no threats; no one’s after me; you people are a bunch of paranoid freaks.”

No. Accepting their major premise—that there’s a real threat out there—he presents rather a different perspective on it.

He brings in a variable that they haven’t mentioned. There is another actor on the battlefield; his name is YHWH, the ever-present and unchanging one, the one who keeps covenants. David views this God from three different perspectives.

His Person

David begins his response with a statement about who God is, what he is like:

The LORD is in his holy temple, the LORD’S throne is in heaven (v 4).

What is he like? Well, for starters, he has a temple—he’s God—and it’s “holy,” or unique. He’s not like everybody else; he’s in a class by himself. Adding him to the scene changes everything.

Second, he has a throne. That means he’s a king. And if he’s holy, then he’s not like any other king. He’s bigger, and stronger, and smarter, and better at kinging than any other king.

There’s a third factor. That throne is in heaven. That means, at least, that he’s above the battlefield and has a broader and clearer perspective on what’s going on down below. The high ground is militarily significant for many reasons, and one of them is the advantage that its perspective gives for strategic planning.

And heaven, of course, is not just any ordinary high ground. It’s the highest ground of all, the home of him who never loses.

So this is who the fearful have left out of their equation. A fairly significant oversight.

His Perspective

David also considers where God is looking—where his attention is focused. He actually bookends his thoughts—what scholars call an inclusio—with this idea.

His eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men (v 4).

His countenance doth behold the upright (v 7).

This powerful God, this master general, this unmatchable force, is paying attention. His eyes are focused like a laser on his people; he knows what’s going on, and his hands are poised on the armrests of his throne as he prepares to move against any and all threats to them. His silence is evidence not of distance or distraction, but of concentration.

The storm in which we find ourselves has an eye, a place of calm. And the eye belongs to God.

His Plan

God has plans for every actor on the battlefield.

God’s plan for the righteous is to strengthen him not by avoiding the exertion of battle, but by enduring it.

The Lord trieth the righteous (v 5).

We all know that athletes don’t become great by lying on the couch. They become great by building endurance through physical challenges—wind sprints, road work, scrimmages seemingly without end. And they build dexterity and skills by constant repetition at the blocking sled or doing layups or punching the timing bag.

They get tired.

But they get great.

That’s God’s loving plan for us through the dark days, through the frightening challenges (Ro 5.3-5).

God also has plans for those who threaten his people.

The wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth. ⁶Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup (vv 5b-6).

They won’t prevail. They won’t even survive.

The foundations, in the end, cannot be destroyed. The battle may well be strenuous, and we may well pick up some Purple Hearts, or maybe even a Congressional Medal of Honor, along the way.

But the outcome is certain.

Fear not.

Photo by NASA. That’s Tropical Cyclone Eloise coming ashore in Mozambique on January 22, 2021.

The Eye of the Storm, Part 1

March 22, 2021 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

I’ve been meditating lately in Psalm 11, as part of my effort this year to memorize a few key Psalms. (So far, 1, 2, 8, 11, and 14; next is 19, d.v.)

Psalm 11 is most well known for its third verse: “If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?”

I’ve heard that verse used as a call to action against evil—typically, social or political action against evil policy proposals, national or regional. Some years ago I even spoke at a Christian-school conference that had chosen that verse as its theme.

But I’d like to suggest that those friends and others have taken this verse to say the very opposite of the intended meaning.

Here’s the whole Psalm—

¹ In the LORD put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, “Flee as a bird to your mountain! ²For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may privily shoot at the upright in heart. ³If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?!”

⁴The LORD is in his holy temple, the LORD’S throne is in heaven: his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men. ⁵The LORD trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth. ⁶Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup. ⁷For the righteous LORD loveth righteousness; his countenance doth behold the upright.

I’ve modified the punctuation of the KJV text just a little: I’ve added quotation marks; I’ve changed the question mark at the end of verse 1 to an exclamation point; and I’ve added an exclamation point to the question mark at the end of verse 3.

It appears to me that the KJV translators viewed the quotation as ending in verse 1; that’s why they put the question mark there. (Note that there was no punctuation in the original manuscripts or in the early copies. All punctuation in the Bible is a later editorial decision.) What basis do I have for extending the quotation through verse 3?

Well, the first consideration in any such decision should always be the context. The contrast between verses 3 and 4 indicates a significant change of perspective—which is why all the major English translations that show paragraph breaks put one there, and all those that include quotation marks end the quotation at the end of verse 3. The fear and frustration expressed in verse 3 seems much more in tune with the quotation in verse 1 than the response in verse 4.

Since it’s always a good idea to run your ideas past experts, the next step is to check the commentaries. Of the technical commentaries I have at hand, Faussett, Keil & Delitzsch, Lange, Kidner (Tyndale), Futato (Cornerstone), Longman (Tyndale), and Motyer (New BC) all agree that the major break is between 3 and 4—in other words, that verse 3 belongs with verse 1.

Thus the psalm consists of two paragraphs, or more properly, two stanzas. In the first, David announces his life principle (“In the Lord do I put my trust”) and then questions those who question him. The words “what can the righteous do?!” are not David’s, but those of his questioners, his self-appointed advisors, who see the world as a much more frightening place than he does. They are words of fear, not of faith.

The second stanza is David’s reply to his fearful advisors. He answers calmly and logically—theologically—and gives reasons for his faith. The reasons are rooted in God’s person, his perspective, and his plan.

And in the face of that, the alarmed have nothing more to say.

I think this Psalm is timely for these days.

In the next post we’ll take a closer look at the words of both the fearful and the faithful. And then we’ll get to pick a side.

Part 2

Photo by NASA. That’s Tropical Cyclone Eloise coming ashore in Mozambique on January 22, 2021.

On Personal Diversity

February 11, 2021 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

This probably isn’t about what you think.

I’m not talking about quotas, or intersectionality, or affirmative action.

I’m not talking about labels and classes of people.

I’m talking about individuals.

I’ve been thinking lately about how diverse human beings are. We teachers have to take some of these differences into account when we teach. Students have different academic levels, of course. They have different backgrounds that can significantly affect their readiness for the material and their ability to process it. Teachers famously think about learning modalities; I’m inclined to think that the traditional list of “visual, auditory, and kinesthetic” is far from exhaustive. I remember how revelatory it was for me when I realized that I just don’t process things auditorily, that I have to see things to remember them.

The school where I teach has a fairly large department devoted to helping students succeed by finding their strengths and making reasonable accommodations for their weaknesses. I’ve grown to appreciate the fact that as a teacher I’m responsible to make these accommodations so that each of my students—all of them created in the image of God himself—can be the best he or she can be.

Our diversity extends far beyond our academic pursuits. People have different personalities—what in theology we call “natures.” Some people, like me, like to be on stage and presenting things we believe strongly. Others literally fear public speaking worse than death. Some people are introverted; some are extroverted. (And most, I suspect, are a complicated mixture of the two.)

Our families make us different. Our cultures make us different. Our place in time makes us different. And on and on it goes.

The Bible makes all this diversity unsurprising—first, because we’re created by a God who demonstrates the richness and complexity of his creative inclinations at every hand, and second, because a major emphasis of the New Testament is the diversity of believers in the church, both because of the breadth of God’s plan for his people—they will be from every kingdom, tribe, tongue, and nation (Re 7.9)—and because of the work of the Spirit in gifting his people for a wide range of ministry. On more than one occasion (Ro 12.4-8; 1Co 12.4-31; Ep 4.11-16) Paul compares the church to a body with one essential purpose but a wide variety of parts, each of them excellent at something, able to do things for the body that other parts cannot.

And that means that while there will be similarities in how we live out the Christian life—we will reverence God, and trust and obey him, and experience the Spirit’s conviction when we sin, and respond to that conviction with repentance—there will also be significant dissimilarities.

We’ll have differing salvation experiences. Some of us will experience great emotion, and others not so much. This is not an indication of the genuineness of our experience; it is simply a manifestation of our way of responding to even the most significant of life experiences.
We’ll have differing experiences of the means of grace.
- We’ll apprehend Scripture differently, depending on our learning modalities and a thousand other differences. Sure, we should embrace a careful and defensible hermeneutic, and not engage in exegetical fallacies; but the experience of reading, absorbing, and implementing is not going to be the same for everyone. We’re going to see things differently, and we should share those insights to add to the richness of the biblical tradition.
- We’ll pray, and experience prayer, differently. Some will be more conversational; others will work a list, and some lists will be more complicated than others—pray for these people on Monday, these on Tuesday. Some will pray with deep emotion; others will matter-of-factly present their requests to God and with relative ease will trust him to do the best thing. The Scripture doesn’t bind us as to prayer technique, and we should be free to express ourselves to our heavenly Father in ways—loving, reverential ways—that are most effective and genuine for us.
- We’ll worship differently. Some will be inclined toward more formal, even liturgical services, while others will flourish in the environment of the old-time camp meetin’. More power to all of you.

Recognizing the creative complexity of our God, and of his image in us, liberates us to be genuine—within the bounds of morality, of course—and to make our unique contribution to the larger body.

It’s good for us. All.

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

On Magic—and Why It’s No Way to Live, Now or Forever

February 8, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

In the Bible, there’s a lot of the supernatural. There’s an infinite, eternal God, who invisibly directs in the affairs of people and nations, and who occasionally breaks out in something miraculous. There are—or were—prophets, who speak the very words of God. There are invisible forces with visible results. Christians, including me, believe this as a matter of course.

But this same biblical God is directly opposed to magic. He doesn’t propose that there are fairies at the bottom of the well, and he even forbids the kinds of activities that have been associated with magic. Israel’s prophet speaks scornfully of “wizards that peep and mutter” (Is 8.19). When Israel’s King Saul consults a medium and—to the apparent surprise of the medium herself—converses with the departed spirit of the prophet Samuel (1S 28.12), the Bible presents that event, the night before Saul’s death, as the final low point of a life of thoroughly unmet potential. When Israel marches the Ark of the Covenant into battle “for luck,” God allows it to be taken by the victorious enemy (1S 4.1-11). When a later and more deeply apostate Israel brags that Jerusalem will never fall because the Temple of God is there (Je 7.4), God brings in the hated Babylonians (Hab 1.6-11) to demonstrate the emptiness of their confident boast. And 600 years later, in a new Temple, God’s Son rejects the idea that those who pray “will be heard for their much speaking” (Mt 6.7).

Why is that? Why does God reject magic?

It’s pretty obvious when you think about it.

What is magic? (I’m talking about real supernatural activity, not the legerdemain of modern entertainers or shysters.)

At its heart, magic is the attempt to get the supernatural powers to do something. It’s about making them serve your desires, instead of serving theirs. It’s about trying make yourself God’s boss.

And that’s not going to happen, because it’s just impossible; it turns the universe completely upside down.

And furthermore, the people who want to do that are precisely the people who should most certainly not be in charge.

And yet we find ourselves tempted to live out our Christianity—our “faith”—that way.

It’s easy for us to see and reject the magical in the aberrant and extravagant behaviors of certain extreme subgroups of Pentecostal or Charismatic Christianity, where if you’ll send in a prayer cloth or apply a vial of completely ordinary oil received in the mail from some huckster, or “if you have enough faith,” God will certainly heal you—and when he doesn’t, well then, whose fault is that?

But what of us?

If you have your devotions, God will give you a better day—by your standards—right?
If you’re busy at church, your kids will turn out just as you want—right?
If you give enough, or pray enough, or go to the right school, or vote for the right “Christian” candidate, you’ll get what you want, right?

And in the end, we’re all little wannabe gods, trying to influence the Big Guy to do what we want him to.

What blasphemy.

God is not your genie, released from the bottle only when you rub it, destined to be your slave forever.

He is Father, Son, Spirit, infinite, eternal, unchangeable, creator and sustainer of heaven and earth, Yahweh God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in lovingkindness and truth.

He’s not magic.

We serve him; he most certainly does not serve us.

He does love us, however, and as the omnipotent and omniscient God, he will do for us precisely what is best—in his own time, and in his own way, and by his own will.

And that is all the more reason to trust his will and judgment, and to keep our own executive ideas to ourselves.

We trust, we serve, and yes, we ask, as he encourages us to do.

But we do not manipulate.

He’s better than that.

Photo by Cesira Alvarado on Unsplash