Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

 

Retired Bible Professor,

Bob Jones University

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Why the Reformation, Part 1

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Tomorrow, October 31, is a landmark holiday in our culture: Halloween. But it is another holiday as well: it’s the anniversary of the day that the Reformer Martin Luther nailed his famous Ninety-Five Theses to the cathedral door in Wittenberg, Germany, an act viewed by many as the official start of the Protestant Reformation.

Some years ago I was asked to speak in my university’s chapel about the reasons for the Reformation. I’d like to take four posts to share what I presented there.

—–

The year is 1492. You live in central Europe, near the center of the Holy Roman Empire, in the area that will someday be called Germany. This is your life.

Your city, Frankfurt, is large, prosperous, and growing. It’s becoming a trade center, and the rich are developing fortunes. There are lots of people, but only two kinds, rich and poor. The rich own the land, and the poor live on it and do the best they can. There are lots more poor people than rich ones, so you’re poor. Your father is a cobbler; he makes shoes. And someday you’ll be a cobbler too, because that’s how life is; you work with your hands, and you learn a trade from someone willing to teach you, and your father is the closest teacher at hand. So you’ll be a cobbler, like him.

School? That’s funny. Hardly anyone goes to school. Oh, the children of rich people do—or at least some of them do, those who show some aptitude for learning. Many wealthy families want one of their sons to be a priest or a monk, and they’ll choose one to learn what he can in a monastery or an abbey. If the rich man is associated with the new banking industry here in northern Europe, his sons might learn to read and cipher so they can go into that. But you? No, school’s not in the cards. You’ll help your father in his shop, and you’ll learn his trade. You’ll make enough money at that to support a wife and children with food and other very basic needs.

Your schedule is pretty much ruled by the sun. When it rises, and the roosters crow, you get up, break your fast, and get to work. When it goes down, you fall into bed and sleep the deep sleep of the weary. Day after day, week after week, the ritual is the same.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep, you look up at the sky. It’s quite a sight. There’s no light at night, of course, except the glimmer of a few torches here and there, and the night sky is a wonder. Thousands of stars—thousands of them—blanket the sky, with many of them clustered in a band. There are so many of them, and they are so close together, that it looks like a path of milk that stretches from the northeast to the south. A milky way. What a sight. And some of the stars are brighter than the others, and oddly, they change positions as the nights progress. People have given them names: Venus, Mars, Jupiter. You don’t know why they move among the other stars—the wise ones call them “wandering stars”—but you love to watch them parade along the Milky Way at night.

And you wonder who made them. God? Who is he? What is he like? Does he know about you? Does he care? Does he want to be friends? How can you find out?

There are churches in your town. The biggest one, St. Bartholomew’s, is right in the center of the city. It’s a very important church; the kings have been crowned there for more than 100 years, and everyone in the city is very proud of it. Its tower is almost 300 feet tall, and you can see it from anywhere in the city. It’s beautiful.

Your family goes to mass there on Sundays; your father says that you have to because God likes you better if you do. You think the mass is boring—it’s mostly in some language you can’t understand. It’s a long ways from where you sit to the front where the priest stands, but you can tell that he talks for a while—your father calls it a “homily”—and sometimes that’s in your language, but it’s so far away, and the church echoes so much, that it’s hard to make out much of what he says. Sometimes you hear him talking about giving alms to the poor, but you don’t have any alms. You guess that means you’re poor, but nobody ever gives your family any alms, either. And sometimes he talks about going on a pilgrimage to see holy places, but your father says there isn’t any money for that either, so the homilies don’t seem to say much to you. There’s a choir that sings in a kind of a chant, and you like that part, and then the priest says something in the other language, the one you don’t understand. It sounds like “hocus pocus,” and he holds something up with both his hands, and somebody rings a bell, and then everybody goes up to the front, row by row, for what your father calls the eucharist, but again, it’s all in a language you can’t understand, and when you ask your father to explain, he says he doesn’t really understand it either. You ask him to ask the priest, and he says he did, but the priest can’t read, so he can’t explain much. But it’s all very important, so your whole family goes every Sunday.

To be continued …

Photo by Wim van ‘t Einde on Unsplash

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

On “Literal” Interpretation, Part 2: Sometimes You Shouldn’t Translate

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Part 1: Nobody Does That

There’s an argument among conservative Christians over whether we should translate the Bible “literally”—by which the proponent usually means “word for word, so much as is possible in translating from one language to another”—or “loosely”—by which the proponent means “concept for concept.” The technical term for the latter is “dynamic equivalence.”

Of the popular English translations today, the most “literal” is, in my opinion, the NASB, while the most representative of dynamic equivalence is the NIV—though I hasten to say that the NIV frequently goes beyond dynamic equivalence to interpretation, seeking to “clarify” ambiguous original language. That makes the NIV in some respects more of a commentary than a translation.

Some may be surprised that I didn’t identify the KJV as the most “literal.” Well, I didn’t because it isn’t. The KJV translators did occasionally render in dynamic equivalence, although the term wasn’t around in those days. Probably the clearest example is the way they translate the Greek exclamation μη γενοιτο (me genoito), which literally means “May it never come to pass!” The KJV translates this expression “God forbid” in all 16 occurrences, thereby introducing the name of God where it does not appear in the Greek. I’m not criticizing this translation choice; I think it’s a perfectly good one for the culture of 1611. But it’s indisputably not a literal translation.

I think there are advantages and disadvantages to both “literal” and dynamically equivalent translations, and a I make a point of consulting multiple translations, across the spectrum of translation philosophy, when I study a passage.

I ended the previous post by promising a consideration of when we shouldn’t translate the original language at all—when translating is to miss the whole point. I would direct you to a passage that may sound familiar:

For precept must be upon precept, precept upon precept;
Line upon line, line upon line;
Here a little, and there a little: …
But the word of the Lord was unto them
Precept upon precept, precept upon precept;
Line upon line, line upon line;
Here a little, and there a little;
That they might go, and fall backward, and be broken,
And snared, and taken
(Is 28.10, 13).

But what if Isaiah’s point isn’t the words?

Here’s the transliterated Hebrew. (I need to show it to you to make the point.)

tsaw ltsaw tsaw ltsaw qaw lqaw qaw lqaw

“line upon line, line upon line, precept upon precept, precept upon precept”

Do you see what Isaiah—and the Lord—are doing here? I’d suggest that there’s a strong possibility that the message is not about the meaning of the words; it’s about the sounds of the words. Blah, blah, blah. Yada, yada, yada.

It’s worth noting that the context bears this out. In verse 11 God says that he’ll speak to his people “with stammering lips and another tongue”; in verse 12 he says, “yet they would not hear.” God’s point is not that the Israelites are slow learners and need pedagogical scaffolding; his point is that they just don’t listen to what they already know—the Torah and the words of the prophets are just a bunch of noise to them.

Nearly all the English versions miss the point, I would suggest, by translating the Hebrew. There are a few that get it, in my opinion:

You don’t even listen— all you hear is senseless sound after senseless sound (CEV).

They speak utter nonsense (GW).

CEV is a paraphrase rather than a translation; GW is a translation originally designed to meet the needs of deaf readers and often used with ESL readers.

Some would caution against taking this approach, given the doctrine of verbal inspiration. I would agree that we should approach this idea with caution. But I also think that the evidence of sound and context are strong in this case.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Up the Down Staircase, Part 2

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On Conscience, Legalism, Loving Your Brother, and the Fear of Man

Part 1

Is it OK to go up the down staircase?

If it violates the spirit of the law, no it’s not. If it doesn’t, it’s fine.

But as I noted last time, when it doesn’t violate the spirit of the law, there are other things to consider.

Conscience

In 1 Corinthians 8, Paul deals with a Christian who thinks it’s wrong to eat meat that’s been sacrificed to idols. In the previous paragraph Paul has already said that there’s nothing wrong with eating the meat in itself. But this person is a new Christian, fresh out of idol worship, and to him that sacrificial meat carries baggage with it. (Now there’s an odd metaphor.) His conscience bothers him if he eats the meat.

Paul says, he must not eat the meat, and more mature Christians must not encourage him to eat it.

Why? Isn’t his conscience being unnecessarily narrow? Yes, it is. But his conscience doesn’t know that, and nobody ought to tell his own conscience to shut up. You want a conscience that speaks up, and one that knows it will be heard. If you tell your conscience to shut up enough times, eventually it will. And then you’re in serial killer territory.

So you’re at the bottom of the down staircase. It’s empty. The halls are quiet. Can you go up it?

Sure—provided your conscience doesn’t bother you about it.

Now, if you’re in an empty building, and you’re staring at the “Down” sign, and you look both ways down the hall, to make sure nobody’s watching, and you run up the stairs, pulse pounding, exhilarated that you’re getting away with something,

First, you’re one oddly troubled kid.

And second, yes, you’re sinning. God calls that rebellion, and he says it’s worse than witchcraft.

Oh, and one other thing …

Edification

Paul also says that you should refrain from doing things that might cause spiritual harm to your brother.

So here I am at the bottom of the down staircase. There are students around. I’m a teacher. A Bible teacher. (Actually, in a well-designed Christian liberal arts university, all the teachers are Bible teachers.)

Do I go up the down staircase, or do I walk a few extra steps to use the up staircase?

I don’t want to encourage my students to violate their own consciences, and I don’t want them to get the impression that regulations don’t matter.

So I walk the extra steps. Even if the down staircase is empty.

The principle of edification.

Now it’s at this point that somebody alleges, “Fear of man!”

Au contraire, mon frere.

I am not altering my behavior because I’m afraid of what they’ll think of me. God is my judge (that’s what my name means, actually), and I stand before only him, with Christ, my Advocate, at my side. Fearless, because Christ has given me promises, and I believe him.

I am altering my behavior because I love my students and want God’s best for them, including spiritual health. No fear in that. Perfect love casts out fear.

A closing thought.

Yeah, this is a tempest in a teapot. It’s a lot of obsessive thinking over a relatively trivial decision.

But that’s what I like about it. It gives us an opportunity to think through the biblical principles that should drive all our decisions, including the really big ones, and to do it in an environment that’s less complex, emotionally fraught, and consequential.

I hope it helps to clarify your thoughts on the matter.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Up the Down Staircase, Part 1

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On Conscience, Legalism, Loving Your Brother, and the Fear of Man

Ah, that “doubtful things” issue again.

Yep.

There’s been some really good material written on the Christian conscience lately. One of my favorites is this book, written by a long-time missionary and a former student of mine (that’s two people, not one). I think they handle the issue well.

I don’t plan to add anything to, or correct, anything they’ve said. But it occurred to me that an illustration I use for this concept in my teaching might be useful for a general audience. Which you are.

So here goes.

The Bible says that we should never violate our conscience—even when it’s misinformed, and unnecessarily restrictive (1Co 8.7-13). I’ve written on that before, so I won’t go over those concepts again. It also gives Christians a fair amount of liberty to disagree on what kinds of activities they can engage in (1Co 8-10; Ro 14). I think it’s delightful to interact with other believers—the thoughtful ones, anyway—to learn how they think about such matters and how they make their decisions. It’s too bad that many Christians see these disagreements as occasions for combat or for disdain. I think we can all learn a lot by calmly interacting over our disagreements.

When those arguments occur, the word legalism often gets thrown around. Like a hand grenade. The term suffers from a general lack of definition in the current culture; most people use it as a pejorative for behavior that they think is unnecessarily narrow. (It used to mean the belief that your good works will get you to heaven, but I haven’t heard anyone use it that way in a looong time.)

I like to use an illustration when I’m teaching on these matters. It’s one my students understand well, because it’s right down the hall from us.

In the classroom building where I teach, there’s a staircase at the center lobby. The “up” staircase is on the right of the lobby, and the “down” staircase, as you might expect, is on the left. Each side has a sign. Up. Down.

Perfectly clear.

Do you need to follow the signs? Is it a sin to go up the down staircase?

Well, it depends. And while this particular illustration is relatively trivial—the decisions you make while driving your car are exponentially more important—it does provide an opportunity to think through the larger biblical principles in a way that encourages objectivity and discourages raw emotionalism.

Authority

The first principle that presents itself is that of authority. There are behavioral requirements of the students—and of the faculty—and the Scripture does say that we should obey those in authority over us: government (Ro 13), church (He 13.17), family (Ep 6.1), employment (Co 3.22). It doesn’t specify “teachers and administrators in a university setting”—universities didn’t exist in those days—but our culture widely recognizes that educational institutions act in loco parentis, and in any case students at my school, like many others, sign a statement that they will conform to the rules of the institution, so here it becomes a matter of personal integrity.

So in the abstract, you shouldn’t go up the down staircase.

But the Scripture also speaks of “the spirit of the law” and “the letter of the law.” Why have the institutional authorities specified an up and a down staircase?

The intent of the regulation is pretty clear: efficiency. And maybe safety. When the stairs are crowded, everybody benefits if the traffic is flowing in one direction. So go with the flow, dude.

That’s called loving your neighbor.

Years ago, I was in a crowd going down the (down) staircase, and here came a male student, in the opposite direction, head down, engrossed in his phone, completely oblivious to the fact that he was turning the traffic flow chaotic. I put my hand in the middle of his chest, waited for him to look up, and said, “Turn around, go back down, and use the stairs over there.” He looked at me incredulously. “You’re kidding!” “No, I’m not. Love your neighbor. It’s the second most important commandment.”

I have no idea who that student was, or how he is now. But I hope he loves his neighbor.

Well, then, what about the slow times? Any problem with going up the down staircase then?

Given the intent of the regulation, none at all.

But in those cases there are other things to consider.

Next time.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Part 2

On Fun, Part 5: Question Everything

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Part 1: It’s Good | Part 2: On Purpose | Part 3: Loving Your Neighbor | Part 4: Down with Slavery

As promised, here are some questions you can ask yourself as you decide how to get your entertainment, pleasure, and relaxation.

Will It Defile Me?

The Psalmist said, “I will set no wicked thing before my eyes” (Ps 101.3).

That’s good advice, even though it’s getting more and more difficult to follow in the present culture.

A little thought experiment.

When I was coming up in the 1960’s, pretty much all conservative Christians agreed that Christians shouldn’t go to movies—even the good ones, because even then you were supporting a corrupt industry. Now, I didn’t grow up in “fundamentalism,” so I’m not talking about the stereotypical “against everything” folks. These are Christians in the broad circle of evangelicalism. Today, of course, the percentages are exactly reversed: pretty much everybody agrees that it’s fine to go to movies. And in the 50 years between those two surveys, the movies have gotten a lot worse.

I promise you that I’m not making any point about going to movies; that’s not my purpose here. My point is that we are no longer repelled by the things that we used to be repelled by. Our consciences have gotten less sensitive, more leathery.

That’s what daily defilement will do to you, without your even being aware that it’s happening.

Will It Make Me Lazy?

Solomon said, “An idle soul shall suffer hunger” (Pr 19.15). And in case you need a New Testament verse to be convinced, Paul urges the Roman church not to be “slothful in business” (Ro 12.11).

Fun is refreshment to empower the return to work; it’s not a lifestyle. We can’t lie in bed all day just because it’s warm and relaxing and easy.

Will It Make Me Discontent?

The writer to the Hebrews urges them to “be content with the things you have” (He 13.5).

Playing the lottery doesn’t do that for you. Going to Vegas doesn’t do that.

That’s pretty obvious.

But some people will face the same result from less obviously tempting things, things that might well be fine for other believers: going on a cruise, following the lifestyles of rich people, even collecting things (again, if it becomes obsessive).

We’re all different, and that’s why it’s a good practice to ask yourself the question.

Will It Help Me Approve Excellence?

Let’s end with a positive one.

Paul urges the Philippians to “approve things that are excellent” (Php 1.10). And at the end of that letter, he famously encourages meditation on “whatever is true, … honorable, … just, … pure, … lovely, … commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise” (Php 4.8).

I note that this well-known list focuses on moral excellence. Nothing wrong with admiring the physical prowess of a top-notch athlete—that Simone Biles is remarkable beyond words—but in the end our most diligent observation and endeavor should involve being really good at being really good.

We ought to educate our moral standards, rather than finding enjoyment and passive relaxation in the degraded. The long view from the latter seat is nowhere you’d like to be.

Eat. Drink. Play. Love. Enjoy it all.

All to the glory of God.

Photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash

On Fun, Part 4: Down with Slavery

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Part 1: It’s Good | Part 2: On Purpose | Part 3: Loving Your Neighbor

There’s another factor to consider in choosing our fun.

It’s actually a principle that applies in a much broader context, involving more than just the entertainment we choose.

It applies to all of life.

Sometimes people have trouble controlling themselves. They get obsessed with a particular thing, and eventually it dominates them.

As I say, it may involve any number of things besides entertainment. Sometimes it’s work. Sometimes it’s study. Sometimes—to someone with “a one-track mind,” it’s literally anything—whatever they happen to be doing at the moment.

Study? Seriously?

Yep.

When I was in seminary, a friend of mine told me that his roommate told him to shut up, because he was busy reading a theology book.

Now, that’s putting the cart before the horse. I wonder if he was reading the section on loving your neighbor.

See what I did there? Neigh-bor? Get it?

What was I writing about?

Oh, yes.

Obsession.

What’s wrong with being really interested in something?

Nothing at all.

The issue isn’t interest: it’s control. Slavery.

Believers have just one Master. He is the master we were designed to serve, and when we try to serve a different one, all kinds of things go haywire. When you put a 15-amp fuse in a 50-amp circuit, you’re going to end up in the dark.

Now, it’s bad enough when the wrong master we choose is our career, or popular acclaim, or wealth.

But it’s even worse, I think, when it’s something so trivial as what we do for fun.

There are obvious examples: drugs, including alcohol, make horrendous masters. Sex, a delightful gift from God, can literally destroy the one who serves it.

But so can a TV show. So can scrolling mindlessly and obsessively and endlessly through a social media feed. So can spending money you don’t have to buy one more rifle or golf club or motorcycle or dress or coin set or gemstone.

How much will be enough?

Just one more. Always just one more.

And the money involved is not the primary issue. Maybe you have plenty of money to spend on such things. But you have no more time than the poorest person in the world—just 24 hours per day, and time is a zero-sum game: time you spend on entertainment is time you’re taking away from something else. Family. Productivity. Sleep. Fellowship. Study of the Word.

I think I’ve made it clear already in this series that you ought to have leisure time. You ought to have fun. But fun is a servant, not a master. You weren’t designed to whittle away your time watching every last episode, or achieving every last level, or playing all 9 million games of Freecell.

So far, just two brief allusions to Scripture in this post.

Let’s get serious.

The Scripture speaks to this idea in both Testaments.

  • The wisest man who ever lived said, “He who loves pleasure will become a poor man” (Pr 21.17). This reminds me of the wag’s comment that a government-run lottery is a tax on people who are bad at math.
  • One of the charges that God levels at Babylon is that she is “a lover of pleasures” (Is 47.8).
  • In his parable of the soils, Jesus described one unproductive soil as “choked by the riches and cares and pleasures of life” (Lk 8.14).
  • Paul tells Timothy that in the last days, people will be “lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God” (2Ti 3.4).

I’d suggest that we approach our fun times with the steely assertion of Paul himself, who said, “All things are lawful for me, but I will not be dominated by anything” (1Co 6.12).

I’d suggest that if some form of entertainment dominates you, then you’re not having as much fun as you could be having.

Have as much fun as you can.

Next time: some questions to ask as you’re making up your mind.

Photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash

Part 5: Question Everything

On Fun, Part 3: Loving Your Neighbor

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Part 1: It’s Good | Part 2: On Purpose

Jesus told us that the greatest commandment is to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength (Mk 12.30; Lk 10.27). As we saw in the previous post, we can and should do that in the fun times as well as in the serious ones.

But Jesus, unbidden, identified the second greatest commandment as well: love your neighbor as yourself (Mk 12.31; Lk 10.27). Is it possible for us to do that when we’re “just having fun”?

I think the question pretty much answers itself. If God’s goal for me is being like Christ, then that’s his goal for everybody I know as well. And if I can make my rest and pleasure purposeful for myself, then I can make it purposeful for my friends and associates too.

I can think of a couple of ways to do that.

First, Paul tell us to be sure that we “edify” our brothers and sisters in Christ—that is, we build them up, make them stronger. We can spend some time thinking about how we strengthen their spiritual walk through our shared entertainment experiences. For example, what are your friend’s strengths or gifts, and how can your shared leisure experiences reinforce those gifts? Is he a “people person”? Then how about doing things that bring you across the paths of others, where he can instruct, encourage, enjoy? Can he teach friends how to build a campfire, cook on it, set up a tent? I believe there’s an obvious activity that could serve that purpose. What if he’s more solitary, bookish? How about reading a book together? Visiting a historical site? Playing Ticket to Ride or Settlers of Catan?

Now, I know that many readers of this post will think this sounds unbearably dull. Of course. I’m intentionally trying to give examples for the hard cases. You and your friends can certainly come up with options that fit your personalities and interests more specifically. My point is that you should give it all some thought, rather than just “hanging out” unimaginatively.

I said I had a couple of ways. Here’s the flip side. The opposite of building up is tearing down. We also need to be sure that we don’t cause spiritual damage to our friends by the choices we make in having fun. What are the things your friend struggles with spiritually? (You don’t know? Then it’s time to add some substance to your friendship by talking about your spiritual strengths and weaknesses, victories and struggles.) If he has a problem in an environment dominated by bikinis, then you probably shouldn’t be going to the beach. If he’s tempted to isolate himself from others, thereby avoiding the need to love his neighbor, then maybe video games aren’t the wisest choice.

In a similar vein, we need to respect the consciences of our friends. I’ve touched on that before; let me say here that there is no legitimate place for us to encourage friends to do things that they don’t think they should do—even if we’re convinced that they’re mistaken, and their consciences are being unnecessarily strict with them. When you violate your conscience—in effect, tell it to shut up—you’re weakening it for the next time. Do that enough times, and eventually it won’t speak up at all anymore—and that, my friend, is not a place you want to be. And so it’s not a place you want your friends to be either.

So you engage in activities that you can all enjoy, that will increase your effectiveness as followers of Jesus, that will provide you all with the kind of pleasure and relaxation that God wants you to have.

There’s another general consideration I’d like to address, and then some more specific questions we can ask ourselves as we make our choices.

Next time.

Photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash

Part 4: Down with Slavery | Part 5: Question Everything

On Fun, Part 2: On Purpose

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Part 1: It’s Good

We’ve established that fun—which I’ve defined as comprising pleasure and rest—is good, in that God engages in such activities and commends them for his people. But Scripture also indicates that humans have a remarkable propensity for turning good things into bad things, and we can all think of ways that people have entertained themselves that are clearly unacceptable.

So it’s worth trying to derive some simple principles, based in Scripture, to help us evaluate the ways we choose our pleasures and our ways to relax.

Really? Do we have to be that obsessive about how we choose to have fun?

Well, I wouldn’t call it obsessive—that word implies that there’s something mentally unhealthy about it. I’d prefer to call it being thoughtful, in the sense of thinking carefully about how we steward our lives, our bodies, and our time.

The Scripture famously says,

Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God (1Co 10.31).

That says, among other things, that

  • We ought to have a purpose for everything in our lives; nothing is purposeless, mindless, or “just entertainment”;
  • That purpose is outside, or beyond, ourselves; we have other things to consider besides just what we want to do.

So yes, we ought to give thought to how we have fun. I don’t apologize for saying that.

Now, to implement this kind of thinking, we need to begin by defining a key term: what does it means to “do all to the glory of God”? What brings him glory?

I would suggest that honoring him should involve caring about his goals, his purposes. And he tells us what his goal for us as his people is:

Them who are the called according to his purpose, … he did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son (Ro 8.28-29).

Without getting distracted by the arguments about predestination, we can safely conclude that God’s purpose or goal for us is that we be like his Son. Our lives should be a process of becoming increasingly like Jesus.

That’s the Prime Directive.

Everything we do should be purposely chosen for that end.

As a simple illustration, if a sitcom makes me laugh at sin, I can’t think to myself, “Oh, lighten up; it’s just a joke!”

In a life patterned after 1 Corinthians 10.31, nothing is ever “just a joke.”

I’m not suggesting that we should be somber and joyless; but I am arguing that our laughter, which should be abundant, should also be purposeful, should be about things that the Son would enjoy sharing with us.

Recently I had dinner with a group gathered in a midwestern city for a conference of Christian educators. There were 11 of us seated around a large table, and over good food we told stories of teaching and other ministry experiences, and we laughed until our sides hurt. Some of us were closer friends than others, but by the end of the evening we all were united by the simple delight of the experience. No observer would have thought that anyone at the table was a stick in the mud.

What a joy such an experience is. What memories it cements in our minds.

What fun.

Now eating and telling tales and laughing is not the only way to have fun. As beings in the image of God, we are creative, and over the centuries people have come up with all sorts of ways to entertain themselves. And in the future there will be many, many more. Delight in such things is a gift from God.

Let’s think for a few posts about how to experience such delights in ways that move us toward being like the Son.

Photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash

Part 3: Loving Your Neighbor | Part 4: Down with Slavery | Part 5: Question Everything

On Fun, Part 1: It’s Good

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For a radical change of pace, I’d like to spend a few posts thinking about having fun—and specifically, how to have fun and do it right.

I’ll note that my colleague Dr. Brian Hand has written a brief book on the subject, cleverly titled Upright Downtime, which I highly recommend. This series isn’t a summary of that book, but of course our thoughts will overlap in places.

I think the best place to begin is with morals. I’m happy to start with a firm and resolute statement:

Fun is good.

We know that it’s good, because God both practices it himself and endorses it for us.

I’d suggest that what we call “fun” consists of both pleasure, or enjoyment, and rest, or relaxation. God engages in both.

  • God takes pleasure throughout Scripture, in all kinds of things:
    • Uprightness (1Ch 29.17)
    • The prosperity of his servant (Ps 35.27)
    • Those that fear him (Ps 147.11)
    • His Temple (Hag 1.8)
    • Giving his people the kingdom (Lk 12.32)

In just this short list I note that God takes pleasure in not only the service of his servants (uprightness, fear, the Temple) but also in their pleasure (prosperity, the kingdom). More on that in a few sentences.

  • God also rests.
    • He rested from creation on Day 7 (Ge 2.2). Now, I know that God didn’t rest because he was tired; the passage simply means that he stopped his creative work, because it was finished. But he did stop. The biblical picture of God is not of one who is working feverishly—even though he is working constantly, most noticeably in his providential work. But he is not stressed, and he is never feeling the pressure of getting it all done.
    • Jesus, incarnate, rested from his exhausting labors by withdrawing into the wilderness (Lk 5.16). Sometimes he does that to pray, as this verse specifies (see also Mt 14.23); sometimes no specific reason is given (Mt 14.13). If you had three years to save the world, would you be taking days off? Jesus did.

Beyond that, God clearly encourages—even commands—us to take pleasure and rest as well.

  • He makes Eden’s trees “pleasant to the sight, and good for food” (Ge 2.9). Multisensory pleasure! And we know that Adam was encouraged to eat of every tree that was good for food, with the exception of just one (Ge 2.17).
  • David notes that “at [God’s] right hand there are pleasures forevermore” (Ps 16.11); and again, “[The children of men] shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy house; And thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures” (Ps 36.8). This metaphor speaks of an abundance of pleasure, of multiple kinds of pleasure, of swimming in it.
  • All through the Song of Solomon, the kings delights in specifically sexual pleasure. Many commentators have tried to lessen the erotic tone of the book by turning it into a metaphor of God’s love for his church; but I don’t see any evidence in the text that it should be read that way. It was God, after all, who designed sex to be pleasurable.

And rest?

  • The same Jesus who withdraws into the wilderness for rest takes his disciples with him on at least one occasion (Mk 6.31).
  • And then there’s the Sabbath, a central feature of the Law of Moses, where God requires his people to rest every seventh day—on penalty of death (Nu 15.32-36).

Rest is serious business; it’s a basic need for those in the image of God.

But I need to temper the title of this post.

The Scripture is clear that not all fun is good. There is pleasure that is evil, and there is rest that is evil. The God who takes pleasure in many things also reveals that he does not take pleasure in certain other things.

So how do we decide how to have fun?—or more precisely, what kinds of fun to have?

We’ll start on that in the next post.

Photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash

Part 2: On Purpose | Part 3: Loving Your Neighbor | Part 4: Down with Slavery | Part 5: Question Everything

In My Place, Part 4: How Far?

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Part 1: Origins | Part 2: What It Takes | Part 3: Why?

I’m going to appear to be changing the subject in this post, but the connection will be clear soon enough.

We all know the story of Jesus’ baptism. He comes to the spot on the Jordan River where John is baptizing. John is puzzled; he is preaching a baptism of repentance, and scores of people are being baptized, repenting of their sins. When John sees Jesus approaching, he says, “You ought to be baptizing me! Why are you coming to me for baptism?” (Mt 3.14).

Jesus replies, in essence, “I want you to go along with what I’m doing; this is appropriate to fulfill all righteousness” (Mt 3.15).

Now, what can that possibly mean? How is Jesus “fulfilling all righteousness” by undergoing a baptism of repentance? Especially if he has nothing for which he needs to repent?

I wonder—and I’m being tentative here—I wonder whether this is part of his larger work of representing us—of coming to earth as a man, living among us, and accomplishing for us what we could not accomplish for ourselves.

You know, I repented of my sin decades ago, and I meant it at the time. But then a funny thing happened: I kept on sinning, even though I had repented. Sixty years later, I still sin.

And I’m not the only one in that boat, am I? Isn’t that the experience of every Christian?

We repent, and we mean it. But somehow the sin doesn’t go away. Repeatedly throughout our lives, we yield to sin, despite our best intentions. We go back on our repentance.

We can’t even repent right. We’re really, really lousy at repenting.

So back to my question. Why would Jesus undergo a baptism of repentance, one that he really didn’t need, in order “to fulfill all righteousness”?

Could it be that this is part of his larger plan to be righteous in our place? Could it be that just as he will eventually die for us, he undergoes a baptism of repentance for us? That he repents perfectly in our place, because we are incapable of repenting perfectly for ourselves?

I don’t know whether that’s what he meant by his words to John. But if it was, it would fit perfectly with the larger scope of his earthly ministry.

  • Christ undergoes a baptism of repentance, committing himself perfectly to live free from sin, and that repentance becomes ours when we repent, imperfectly as we do.
  • Christ lives a perfect life, fulfilling the Law completely at every moment, and his righteousness is credited to our account (2Co 5.21).
  • Christ dies an infinite death, experiencing in a few hours the intensely infinite wrath of God, and his death pays fully the infinite debt we owe (He 9.26).

As Adam, our first father, bequeathed his sinfulness to all of his descendants, even to us, thousands of years later (Ro 5.12, 19), even so Christ, the second Adam, bequeathed his perfect repentance and his perfect sinlessness and his infinitely perfect death to us, taking our place.

Every child in Sunday school learns that “Jesus died for my sins.” And while Jesus’ payment of our penalty is delightful news for anyone a gazillion dollars in debt, the simple truth is that at that moment we’re still broke; our spiritual net worth is zero. That’s a lot better than negative gazillion, but it’s still zero.

But then Jesus’ infinite bank account of righteousness, earned through a life of perfect obedience to the Father, is credited to our account, and we go from broke to infinitely wealthy in an instant.

And despite the imperfection of our repentance, and our consequent ongoing struggle with sin, we find that because we are in Christ, the Father sees his Son when he looks at us.

And in his Son he is well, well pleased.

In our place, from beginning to end.

Photo by James on Unsplash