Theology – Page 28

On God’s Ongoing Speech

April 12, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

The Reformers were well known for their battle-cry, “Sola Scriptura!”—“The Scripture alone!” They were battling the teaching of the Roman Catholic Church that Scripture and tradition—as defined in the statements of the ecumenical councils and the papal encyclicals—were equally authoritative.

I’m a sola scriptura guy too. And so is everybody I work with at my school.

So my students are sometimes surprised when I tell them that the Bible isn’t the only place where God speaks—and that the Bible itself tells us that.

God speaks to us through his Word, most certainly. But he also speaks in other ways.

Theologians have long recognized two classes of revelation: special revelation, or divinely inspired prophecy, which used to happen in different times and different ways (Heb 1.1) but today is confined to his Word (Heb 1.2); and general revelation, or what he shows us through his works—most notably in creation (Ps 19.1ff); in his direction of human affairs, or providence (Dan 2.21); and in human conscience (Gn 1.26-27). God is still speaking today in those ways.

We should note, as we always do when teaching this principle, that general revelation is not authoritative or inerrant in the way special revelation is, because the world and everything in it is broken by sin; what we’re seeing today is not exactly what God created. But the heavens still declare the glory of God, and humans at their worst are able to be informed and moved by what they see all around them.

Paul is a good example of someone putting this to work in ministry. When he’s introducing the gospel to members of a Jewish synagogue in Pisidian Antioch, he references primarily the Scripture, because they know and recognize it. His sermon (Ac 13.14-41) focuses on the metanarrative of Scripture and Jesus’ fulfillment of the messianic prophecies. But shortly later, when he’s addressing pagan Greeks in Athens, he takes an entirely different approach. Rather than quoting the Hebrew Scriptures, which would mean nothing to this audience, he cites their own poets—Epimenides and then Aratus (Ac 17.28)—because anyone in the image of God is eventually going to say something worthwhile. And he argues not from biblical authority but from logic—because even imperfect images of God can be logical.

Throughout history people have found spiritual meaning in the beauties of nature. One of my favorite examples of this, because it’s both observant and deftly rendered, is a poem written by Odell Shepard in 1917. Shepard was a professor of literature at Trinity College in Connecticut and then served a term as Lieutenant Governor. In 1938 he won the Pulitzer prize for biography for his work on Bronson Alcott, Louisa May’s father.

“Whence Cometh My Help”

Let me sleep among the shadows of the mountains when I die,
In the murmur of the pines and sliding streams,
Where the long day loiters by
Like a cloud across the sky
And the moon-drenched night is musical with dreams.

Lay me down within a canyon of the mountains, far away,
In a valley filled with dim and rosy light,
Where the flashing rivers play
Out across the golden day
And a noise of many waters brims the night.

Let me lie where glinting rivers ramble down the slanted glade
Under bending alders garrulous and cool,
Where they gather in the shade
To the dazzling, sheer cascade,
Where they plunge and sleep within the pebbled pool.

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.

I am what the mountains made me of their green and gold and gray,
Of the dawnlight and the moonlight and the foam.
Mighty mothers far away,
Ye who washed my soul in spray,
I am coming, mother mountains, coming home.

When I draw my dreams about me, when I leave the darkling plain
Where my soul forgets to soar and learns to plod,
I shall go back home again
To the kingdoms of the rain,
To the blue purlieus of heaven, nearer God.

Where the rose of dawn blooms earlier across the miles of mist,
Between the tides of sundown and moonrise,
I shall keep a lover’s tryst
With the gold and amethyst,
With the stars for my companions in the skies.

Photo by Steve Carter on Unsplash

On Fun, Part 2: Choosing Good Fun

April 8, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Fun Is Good

If fun is good, but not all fun is good, then we ought to choose our fun thoughtfully and wisely. Fun ought to be to our benefit, not a means of our destruction.

So how do we choose? Can we just choose what we like?

Likes are important. There’s no sense in seeking relaxation in things you don’t like; if this is about pleasure and rest, then that’s obvious.

But I’d suggest that “I like it!” is not a legitimate first criterion. Making your likes the primary criterion is idolatry; “I am the standard by which my world is measured.” My physicist friends tell me that nobody has enough mass to be the center of the universe. Sure, you should do something you like; but the fact that you like something is not in itself a basis for choosing it. There ought to be more significant reasons than that.

You won’t be surprised, I suppose, when I say that we need to base these choices—even choices about what we do for fun—on Scripture. Paul famously wrote,

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

We ought to glorify God in the way we have fun.

How can we do that?

I think we can pull over into this question some principles Paul set forth in another context. The believers at Corinth were squabbling over whether they should do certain things—the most notorious was whether it’s OK to eat meat that had been offered to idols. I’ve written on that in another context, but I think we can legitimately apply it to this question.

Paul says that we have a lot of freedom in our choices of behavior; he even says, surprisingly, that “all things are lawful unto me” (1Co 6.12; 10.23). Now, obviously, in context he doesn’t mean that murder and mayhem are just fine. But he does grant broad latitude to Christians in choosing their own behaviors.

This surprising statement doesn’t appear in isolation, however; Paul attaches limitations to the list of “all things”:

Not all things are expedient (KJV) / helpful (NKJV ESV) / profitable (NASB) / beneficial (CSB NIV) (1Co 6.12). We need to choose activities that help move us toward our goal—and the Christian’s goal is Christ-likeness (Ro 8.29). Stewardship of our rest can clearly do that. Activities that encourage love for our neighbor can do that. On the other hand, activities that isolate us from sympathy for others or that cater to our pridefulness clearly don’t—even if the activity itself is not sin.
Some things threaten to control us (1Co 6.12). Anything that becomes life-dominating is wrong, even if it doesn’t have that effect on other people. I know someone whose marriage broke up because he spent too much time playing computer games. Does anybody really want his life to be radically changed for the worse—by a hobby? a diversion?
Not all things edify (1Co 10.23). This could theoretically be speaking of edifying ourselves or edifying others, but in the context Paul is pretty clearly focusing on the latter. We need to consider whether our pastimes build up or tear down those around us. Literally any activity can cross this line if we get so wrapped up in it that we ignore or neglect those around us.

Since we’re talking about entertainment, let me engage in a little thought experiment about movies.

When I was a boy in broad evangelicalism, around 90% of conservative Christians thought you shouldn’t go to a move theater, because even watching a good movie amounted to supporting an ungodly industry. Now, 50 years later, the number has flipped; about 90% think it’s fine to go to a movie theater.

What’s changed in the meantime?

Well, most noticeably, the movies have gotten a lot more objectionable.

Now, I’m honestly not taking any position here on whether you ought to go to movies. But I can’t help noticing that our freedom has hardened our hearts. We aren’t troubled by the unbiblical things that used to trouble us.

We need to think more carefully about how we have fun.

May I suggest a resource for doing that? My colleague, Dr. Brian Hand, has written a booklet on this topic. It’s not long or expensive, and it’s worth a read.

Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash

On Fun, Part 1: Fun Is Good

April 5, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

I’d like to take a few posts to talk seriously about fun.

Seriously. About fun.

A few years back I did some thinking about the topic, thinking that eventuated in a chapel sermon at BJU on March 19, 2008. These days it seems helpful to run those ideas around the block again.

My first thought about fun is the title of this post.

Fun is good.

I’m not saying just that I like fun; that’s pretty much assumed in the definition of the word. What I’m saying here is a moral judgment, with a theological foundation.

Fun is good. Morally good. We ought to have fun.

Fun—what we might call entertainment if we were trying to be respectable—consists of a couple of elements: pleasure and rest—and, I think, simultaneously. I like my job, for example; it gives me a lot of pleasure, for a lot of reasons. But I wouldn’t call it entertainment, because it’s what I do for a living. Fun is stuff I do, well, just for the fun of it.

So, pleasure, and rest, simultaneously. Here’s biblical evidence—which, in my line of work, constitutes proof—that these things are good.

God Likes Both Pleasure and Rest

God isn’t shy about proclaiming that he greatly enjoys both pleasure and rest.

He takes pleasure

In uprightness (1Ch 29.17; contrast Ps 5.4)
In the prosperity of his servants (Ps 35.27)
In those who fear him (Ps 147.11)
In his people (Ps 149.4)
In the obedience of his Son (Is 53.10)
In the repentance of the wicked (Ezk 18.23; contrast v 32, Heb 10.38)
In his Temple (Hag 1.8)

Jesus said, “Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Lk 12.32). God enjoys giving things to people he loves.

And at the climax of all history, the throng around God’s throne sings, “For your pleasure [all things] are and were created” (Rv 4.11). Pleasure is important enough to be the purpose for which God created the universe.

God seeks rest—

He ended the Creation week with a day of rest (Gen 2.2)—not because he was tired, of course, but because he was finished. Some might argue with me that the word rest here means simply completion, with no real parallel to the kind of “break” that we’re talking about. Fair enough. Then consider—
Jesus rested, for precisely the reasons we do (Mk 6.31). He apparently did so regularly and repeatedly. And if he did, then it’s blasphemous to suggest that there’s something wrong with it.

God Wants Us to Like Both Pleasure and Rest

Further, not only does God engage in and enjoy these two things, but he encourages—even commands—that we do the same.

In the Garden, God told Adam and Eve to eat of a great number of fruit trees, which, he said, “are good for food” (Gn 2.9). David writes that at God’s “right hand are pleasures forevermore” (Ps 16.11)—and that’s speaking not of God’s pleasure, but of that of his people, in his presence.

And then there’s this verse:

You shall make them drink of the river of your pleasures (Ps 36.8).

Drinking deep from a whole river of pleasure. Did you know that verse was in the Bible? Check, if you don’t believe me.

What about rest?

God legislated a day of rest for his people—every week, and several more during major holidays. And as you may have noticed above, when Jesus took time to take a break and get away from the crowds, he told his disciples to come with him and rest as well.

I think it’s safe to conclude from this evidence that the two key elements of entertainment, pleasure and rest, are not only godly but divinely ordained.

We ought to be having fun.

It’s good.

So at this point do I just smile, wave, and tell the kids to “Have fun!”?

I think you’d agree that not all pleasure, not all rest, is good, or profitable, or wise. The woods is full of people who could tell you sad stories about that.

So how do we choose our fun?

We’ll take a look at that in the next post.

Part 2: Choosing Good Fun

Photo by Noah Silliman 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 Deconversion

March 18, 2021 by Dan Olinger 11 Comments

These days I’m noticing a lot of friends who are turning from the faith. These are people with apparent, even convincing previous commitments to Christianity who now welcome the label of unbelief.

I’ve been thinking about the phenomenon. Why so many? Why now?

One possibility, I suppose, is a culturally driven one–that the apparent increase in deconversions is an optical illusion, that there are no more today than there have been in the past. The illusion comes because most of my friends now have and use a personal publishing platform, and they live in a culture that encourages “authenticity” in the form of controversial public pronouncements and the consequent wave of affirmation, in the form of “likes,” from fellow travelers. In that environment, deconversions that in another time would have been kept relatively private are now out there for all the world to see.

Possible, I suppose. Though survey data seem to show that the number of professing evangelicals is indeed shrinking.

Another possibility is theologically driven. For those of us who find—with all due respect to our Arminian brothers and sisters—the Bible to be teaching that a genuine believer cannot finally be lost, the conclusion that someone who deconverts—and persists—was never genuinely a believer to begin with is pretty much unavoidable. And if that’s the case, what could explain all those false professions?

I offer a possibility.

For my increasingly lengthening lifetime, American evangelicalism has prioritized evangelism; it’s one of Bebbington’s four essentials of the movement. In a culture that values efficiency and effectiveness, after the model of Henry Ford, we want to make the process of evangelism fool-proof, so that any believer of any experience can successfully carry out the Great Commission. So we develop methods, and we teach them in little pamphlets in simple language. The Romans Road. The Wordless Book. Sunday school. And lots of others.

And Christian parents, who more than anything want their children to live without the noxiousness of sinful decisions and eventually to go to heaven, lay that simple process on their beloved ones from the earliest ages.

Now, at the age of 4 or 5, any child is going to follow the instructions of an authority figure that he loves and trusts, particularly if there’s no real cost to it.

“Do you want to burn in hell forever?”

“Well, um, no, I’d rather not.”

What sane person would answer any other way?

“Then you need to pray this prayer.”

“Um, okay.”

And the “Amen” is followed by the fervent statement, “You’ve asked Jesus into your heart! Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not going to heaven!”

Scripture tells us that salvation is a divine work. The Spirit convicts of sin (Jn 16.8) and illumines the mind; the Father draws the convert to the Son (Jn 6.44). Unless God is acting on this convert, he’s not a convert at all.

Is it possible that we have a generation of people who grew up in Christian homes and made a “decision” that you’d have to be an idiot to say no to, but have never felt the convicting work of the Holy Spirit and the drawing (and keeping) power of the Father, the covenant-keeping God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob? A generation that today sees professing “evangelicals” by the thousands engaging in behavior that they find deeply disgusting—most notably abusive sexual behavior, hypocrisy, lack of empathy, and the apotheoses of celebrities with prominent character flaws—and they say to themselves, and to their social circles, “Why am I associating with these people? What reason do I have to stay in a relationship to which I’ve never had any commitment beyond an intellectual one, and in my immature years at that?”

Of course it’s possible.

Maybe we should watch for evidence of God’s working in a young person before encouraging him to “pray the prayer.” Maybe we should show our devotion to carrying out the Great Commission by seeking genuine, not facile, conversions. Maybe we should be God’s servants, rather than his pushy facilitators, in this important work. Maybe we should be less frantic, less desperate, and more trusting and confident.

Good intentions don’t seem to be good enough.

Photo by Romain V on Unsplash

Simple Faith. Simple Grace, Part 5: Keeping It Going

March 15, 2021 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1: The Basics | Part 2: The Way | Part 3: Keeping It Simple | Part 4: Working It Out

We’ve spent some time considering the simple truths of the gospel and the importance of keeping them simple—that is, promoting what the Bible actually says without adding any ideas of our own.

That shouldn’t be difficult to do, but historically it seems to be. In our walk with God, we’ve all had differing experiences—

Our culture brings us to the text with different presuppositions, many of them unrecognized, which flavor our understanding of it.
Our experience of God’s grace is not exactly like anyone else’s; we have a unique set of experiences, including high and low points, that give us sometimes unique insights into what a given passage has come to mean to us experientially.
Our personalities bias us to understand a given text differently from someone with a different set of biases.

Add to this the fact, recently considered here, that everybody is at least a little bit right and a little bit wrong, and you have a recipe for theological disagreement about very simple, but very important, biblical teaching.

A case in point—

More than 30 years ago now John MacArthur published The Gospel According to Jesus, arguing against “easy believism,” fruitless Christianity. Sounds as though there wouldn’t be anything controversial about that. But the book took the evangelical world by storm, eliciting multiple responses and counter-responses. MacArthur was arguing not merely that a convert’s life should change, but that if the “convert” hadn’t knowingly embraced the complete lordship of Jesus Christ at the time of his conversion, he wasn’t really a convert.

MacArthur wasn’t the first to argue this position. Walter Chantry had argued similarly nearly 20 years earlier in his book Today’s Gospel: Authentic or Synthetic?, and Arthur W. Pink had discussed a similar concept back in the late 1940s.

Anyway, books started flying. In his 1989 work Absolutely Free!, Zane Hodges argued against MacArthur’s position, as did his Dallas Seminary colleague Charles Ryrie the same year (So Great Salvation). In an even more provocative book, Charles Swindoll, soon to become the president of Dallas Seminary, added to the fire with Grace Awakening in 1990. Don’t add to the list, they argued; keep it simple.

MacArthur doubled down with The Gospel According to the Apostles and then The Gospel According to Paul.

And evangelical seminary classes around the world went to battle. Lots of discussions about the conflicting views, in classes, in the hallways, over meals, and in what few coffee shops there were at time.

I’d like to suggest that the views are both a little bit right, and they’re both a little bit wrong.

I think MacArthur did what a lot of us do—he read some sanctification back into justification, as exemplified by our point about believing the virgin birth. In that narrow sense, he added to the list.

On the other hand, he’s obviously right that Christ’s followers don’t deny or ignore his lordship. They know his voice, and they follow him—not perfectly, of course, but aspirationally.

So no, the little child doesn’t need to “sign on” to the absolute lordship of Christ when he expresses sorrow for his sins and believes that Jesus, strong and kind, will save him. But if that child comes to me as a college student, whose life has not changed, and asks me for help with assurance of salvation, I’m not going to give him list of verses on assurance; I’m going to point him to the warning passages in Scripture—Hebrews would be a great place to start—and I’m going to challenge the authenticity of his faith. If you’re not hearing his voice, what basis do you have for thinking that you’re his sheep?

Simple faith. Simple grace.

And then, certain growth in Christ, by that same grace, to the glory of God.

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

Simple Faith. Simple Grace. Part 4: Working It Out

March 11, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Basics | Part 2: The Way | Part 3: Keeping It Simple

The good news, the gospel, is that salvation is simple. Anyone can understand it, and anyone can do it, by simply turning—turning their heart away from their sin and toward Christ in faith.

Simple faith.

And as we’ve seen, Paul does not tolerate adding anything—even a good and important thing like baptism—to the list.

Jesus said that you come to him like a child, in simple trust (Mk 10.14-15). Children don’t know much, but they do know whom they can trust, who will receive and protect them. Salvation is like that.

But we humans are prone to polarism—to reacting against a bad thing by going to the opposite pole and thinking or doing the opposite bad thing. We often do that in our thinking about salvation.

Salvation is indeed simple and free, but it’s not just a single event at one point in time.

It begins a lifelong process of walking with God and growing in him—learning from the indwelling Spirit, through the Word, and getting better at obeying God by reflecting more accurately the character of his Son. We call this process sanctification, and I’ve written about it before.

As we proceed down that path, the Spirit changes every part of us—

Our minds—we learn things from the Bible, and from experience. We come to understand theology—what there is to know about God and his ways—better.
Our emotions—we learn about Christ’s compassion, and we begin to feel that compassion toward others; we begin to love the brethren, and our neighbors, more as he does.
Our wills—we get better at making the right choices, even under contrary pressure, because we’re thinking more clearly, and because we want to.

The Bible makes it clear that it’s not healthy just to “get saved” and then just remain as we are; there needs to be growth and change—

Paul tells us to “work out [our] own salvation with fear and trembling” (Php 2.12), and he describes that process in his own life (Php 3.8ff).
The author of Hebrews tells his readers that they need to move on beyond the basics and, frankly, just grow up spiritually (Heb 5.11-6.3).
Jesus told his disciples that those who genuinely follow him will unavoidably bear fruit (Jn 15.1.8).

The list could go on and on.

I’ve been a believer for 60 years now, and I’m still amazed every day at how much spiritual growth still lies ahead of me—at often I tell myself, “Dan, after all this time, you really ought to be better at this.”

So let’s press toward the mark (Php 3.14).

But as we do, let’s keep the gospel true—clean, simple, clear.

Let’s not add anything to it.

Let me close with an illustration that might make you uncomfortable.

Question: Do you have to believe in the virgin birth of Christ to be saved?
Answer: No.

Now, hear me out.

Most of my students were saved as children, perhaps age 5 or 6.

When they were saved, they didn’t even know what a virgin birth was. They were children.

But they were genuinely saved.

Now, later, as sanctification progressed, they were introduced to the doctrine of the virgin birth, and when they heard it, they believed it—because “the Bible tells me so,” and because they were Jesus’ sheep, and his sheep hear his voice, and he knows them, and they follow him (Jn 10.27).

Christ’s people will not deny his virgin birth.

It’s a good and important and true thing.

But they didn’t have to have any intellectual understanding of it whatsoever in order to turn to him.

They just had to turn.

Simple faith. Simple grace. Trusting in an unimaginably exalted God, who in time will take them places they could never imagine. But starting simply, by grace.

Part 5: Keeping It Going

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Simple Faith. Simple Grace. Part 3: Keeping It Simple

March 8, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Basics | Part 2: The Way

Very soon after the apostles began spreading this good news of simple faith, people, some of them undoubtedly well intentioned, began adding things to the list. The first, as far as we know, were the Judaizers, who apparently followed Paul around on his travels and, after he had left a given city, “explained” to the new believers that there was more to the story. You see, the Bible says that God commanded Israel to be circumcised and keep the Law, and since Jesus is the Messiah, the Jewish deliverer, following Jesus means becoming Jewish. It’s right there in the Bible.

Paul was merciless with these teachers, well intentioned or not. He is at his angriest when he writes to the Galatian church, denouncing the teaching with the explosive words, “I wish those who are troubling you would be castrated!” (Ga 5.12). If circumcision is good, then castration would be even better, right? A fortiori. QED.

Adding to the list is not something to be trifled with.

Simple faith. Simple grace.

Over the years some groups—most notably the Roman Catholic Church and the Church of Christ—have noted the mention of baptism in 2 of the 9 passages listed in Part 2 (Ac 2.38; 8.12), and they’ve argued that getting baptized is part of the requirement for salvation.

What about that? It’s mentioned, right?

Indeed it is. There’s no question that baptism is expected of believers. But that’s not the question here. The question is, “Is baptism a prerequisite for salvation?” or, to put in another way, “Does the gospel apply only to those who have both believed and been baptized?”

That’s a good question, and it deserves a thoughtful response. Several considerations:

It’s true that baptism is mentioned in connection with salvation in 2 of those 9 passages. But that means that it’s not mentioned in that way in 7 of them. If it’s necessary, if you’re not going to be saved without being baptized, then it’s inexplicable that both Peter and Paul repeatedly omitted it when instructing people how to be saved—especially since Peter himself is the one who mentioned baptism at Pentecost, the first public offer of the gospel.
In one of the accounts, that of Peter’s sermon to Cornelius’s household, the group receives the Spirit before they are baptized (Ac 10.44-48). In fact, Peter’s judgment is that they ought to be baptized because they are showing evidence of a salvation already acquired (Ac 10.47).
Paul later says off-handedly that he has baptized almost no one, because “Christ did not send me to baptize, but to proclaim the gospel” (1Co 1.17). He appears to show no interest in even recalling whom he’s baptized (1Co 1.16). Given Paul’s feverish devotion to Christ’s commission to take the gospel to the Gentiles, his words make no sense if baptism is a requirement for salvation.
Jesus assured the thief on the cross, “Today you will be with me in paradise” (Lk 23.43), even though he was clearly not baptized, and was not going to be.

So no, we can’t add things—even good things, even significant spiritual exercises—to the gospel. The death of Christ for your sins is applied to those sins when you repent and believe. Like a child (Mk 10.15).

Simple faith. Simple grace.

Jesus said that faith doesn’t have to be strong or great. Faith the size of a (tiny) mustard seed, he said, is all it takes (Lk 17.6). Many of us have had the experience (probably as young teens) of lying in bed night after night, filled with fear, praying, “Lord, if I didn’t really mean it last night, I really mean it tonight.” That’s sad, because it’s completely unnecessary.

Faith doesn’t depend on the intensity of the faith of the one believing; it depends on the faithfulness of the One being believed. You’re not saved because you scrunched your eyebrows sufficiently close together (<7.6mm!) when you asked Jesus to save you; you’re saved because you asked Jesus, and he keeps his promises.

So away with this “enough faith” nonsense. Jesus directly spoke against that.

Did you believe in Jesus? Even more simply, do you believe now?

Well then. Bask in the sunlight of warm assurance.

It is finished.

There’s one more thing we need to give some attention to—the question of antinomianism, or fruitless faith. We’ll look at that next time.

Part 4: Working It Out | Part 5: Keeping It Going

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

Simple Faith, Simple Grace, Part 2: The Way

March 4, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Basics

In the previous post we let Paul define the gospel:

Christ died for our sins,
- Certainly.
And he rose again,
- Certainly.
And all this was planned.

Simple enough.

Now, what does this have to do with us? Why is it gospel—good news? To us?

This death, Paul tells us, was “for our sins” (1Co 15.3). It was about us—about dealing with the problem we ourselves had caused. We’ve sinned—broken the cosmos, including ourselves—and we’re now in deep trouble—

We’re defective models of the original design, so we’ll never work right (Ro 3.23).
And we’ve broken the world we live in, so it will never work right, either (Ro 8.22).

As the wisest man who ever lived once wrote, this is a recipe for frustration (Ec 1.14).

But it gets worse.

Since sin violates God’s nature, he’s justly angry with us, and the relationship we were designed to have with him is impossible. We cannot love and serve him—now or forever.

Deep trouble, indeed.

But, as Paul has told us, God himself—the angry party—has taken action to solve our problem (Ro 5.8). In the person of Christ, God the Son, he has paid “for our sins.”

That’s really good news.

All this raises another question, of course.

How do we appropriate Christ’s work for us? What causes his death to be applied to the debt of our sins?

There are several places in the Scripture where the answer is given. In many of those places someone asks that very question upon hearing of Christ’s death, and the responses are strikingly similar and simple—

³⁷Now when they heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and to the other apostles, “Brothers, what should we do?” ³⁸Peter said to them, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. ³⁹For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him” (Ac 2.37-39).
“¹⁹Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out, ²⁰so that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord” (Ac 3.19-20).
“⁴³All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name” (Ac 10.43).
“³⁸Let it be known to you therefore, my brothers, that through this man forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you; ³⁹by this Jesus everyone who believes is set free from all those sins from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses” (Ac 13.38-39).
“³⁰Then he brought them outside and said, ‘Sirs, what must I do to be saved?’ ³¹They answered, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household’ ” (Ac 16.30-31).
“⁴Paul said, ‘John baptized with the baptism of repentance, telling the people to believe in the one who was to come after him, that is, in Jesus’ “ (Ac 19.4).

And in other passages we’re told that people responded to the gospel in specific ways that were effective:

“¹²But when they believed Philip, who was proclaiming the good news about the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ, they were baptized, both men and women” (Ac 8.12).
“¹²When the proconsul saw what had happened, he believed, for he was astonished at the teaching about the Lord” (Ac 13.12).
“¹²Many of them therefore believed, including not a few Greek women and men of high standing” (Ac 17.12).

So what’s called for in our response to this good news?

Repent
Believe

Repentance is turning from your sin. Faith is turning to Christ. They’re both one action, the action of turning. You say, “I don’t want my sin anymore; I want Christ instead.” And in your mind, your heart, you turn.

We call that turn conversion. One simple act.

Simple faith. Simple grace.

There’s much more to be said, ironically, about the simplicity of the gospel. More next time.

Part 3: Keeping It Simple | Part 4: Working It Out | Part 5: Keeping It Going

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