Theology – Page 28

On the Fruit of the Spirit, Part 3: Joy

May 3, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

As the Spirit of God works on the character of his people, it should come as no surprise that right on the heels of love comes joy. Or maybe it might be surprising after all, if you consider the biblical definition of love rather than the common cultural one.

We all know that when people “fall in love,” there’s a lot of joy involved. But as we noted last time, love isn’t really about serendipity; it’s about a focus away from oneself and on others. And these days our culture takes it as axiomatic that you can’t love others until you first love yourself; that there’s nothing more joyous than “being true to yourself.”

Au contraire.

I’m not suggesting that we should be doormats or hypocrites, or that we should be obsessed with self-loathing. But I am confident that making yourself the center of the universe is no path to joy.

If we devote ourselves to acting in the best interests of those around us, though, the roadway is blossoming with joy.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. We should start with definitions.

The word translated “joy” here occurs 60 times in the New Testament. It’s used to describe

How a man feels when he learns that he’s finally, after decades of trying, going to be a father (Lk 1.14)
How the wise men felt when the star they had seen back home reappeared just as they needed help finding the newborn king (Mt 2.10)
How a man feels when he finds a hidden treasure (Mt 13.44)
How a woman feels after she gives birth (Jn 16.21)
How Jesus’ disciples felt when they found that they could cast out demons (Lk 10.17)
How the women at the tomb felt when the angel told them that Jesus was risen (Mt 28.8)
How the disciples felt when the risen Jesus appeared in the room with them (Lk 24.41)
How Rhoda felt when she realized that the imprisoned Peter, for whom the church was praying, was free and standing at the gate (Ac 12.14)
How a teacher feels when his students excel (Php 2.2; 4.1; 1Th 2.19-20; Heb 13.17; 1J 1.4; 3J 4)

I really get that last one.

If you scan through the uses of this word in the NT, you can’t help noticing something that you may find surprising—the frequent connection of joy with trials.

When Paul and Barnabas were opposed and then thrown out of the first major city they visited in Asia Minor on their first missionary journey, “the disciples were continually filled with joy and with the Holy Spirit” (Ac 13.52).
To the church in Corinth Paul writes, “I am overflowing with joy in all our affliction” (2Co 7.4).
To the same church he writes that for the churches of northern Greece, “in a great trial of affliction the abundance of their joy and their deep poverty abounded unto the riches of their liberality” (2Co 8.2).
He tells the Thessalonians that they had “received the word in much affliction, with joy of the Holy Spirit” (1Th 1.6).
The author of Hebrews writes that his audience “accepted joyfully the seizure of your property” (Heb 10.34).
James writes, “Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials” (Jam 1.2).

So joy is how we feel when we get really good news—but it’s possible to feel the same way when the news is not at all good. It’s delight that isn’t based on our circumstances.

How does the Spirit work this in us? The “trials” passages give us a clue.

God “comforts the depressed” (2Co 7.6). And, as Paul makes clear in this instance, the causes of sorrow are not permanent, and God brings good things out of hard times.
In the case of the Hebrews, they accepted persecution “knowing that you have for yourselves a better possession and a lasting one” (Heb 10.34).
And James, writing earlier than all the others—and before his execution by being thrown off “the pinnacle of the Temple” in Jerusalem, where his half-brother had refused Satan’s invitation to jump—notes that “the testing of your faith produces endurance” (Jam 1.3).

What’s the takeaway here?

When your perspective changes from the mud in the road to the eternal outcome of the beneficent divine plan—when we live “with eternity’s values in view,” as the gospel chorus says—we deal more joyously—more realistically!—with the instabilities of life. Like an experienced driver, who takes in the whole road and not just what’s happening right in front of his bumper, we’re much less likely to crash.

Joy.

It’s how we live.

Photo by Gabriele Lässer on Unsplash

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.

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.