Dan Olinger

On Providence, Part 1: Where?

July 24, 2023 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

One of my favorite theological topics—one of my favorite topics of any kind—is providence, the biblical teaching that God governs all things. I mention it often in this blog; if you search for it in the archive as of this writing, you get, by my count, 34 posts out of 580. Two reasons for that: first, I like it a lot, and second, by its very nature providence is pretty difficult to avoid mentioning. Once in a quiz I asked the class to identify an example of providence in history, and as we were grading it I realized that literally any historical event would be a correct answer.

That’s pedagogically embarrassing, but it’s theologically exhilarating.

I’d like to spend a few posts surveying the biblical data on the topic. I don’t intend to get into the thorny arguments that have arisen around the topic and its implications, but I would like to soak awhile in what the biblical authors thought it healthful to consider.

I suppose we should start with a definition of sorts: what are the spheres of providence? Or in less technical terms, where is God governing?

When I put it that way, you’ll be tempted to snort, “Well, duh. Everything.”

And this is one temptation I am fiercely encouraging you to give in to.

Of course that is the right answer. It is inherent in the meaning of the word sovereignty. If God’s not in charge everywhere, then he’s not really in charge, is he?

And the Scripture confirms that idea by direct statement. Just look at where the Bible says that God is in control—

In the cosmos. Psalm 19 famously begins by asserting that God’s glory—his handiwork—is apparent everywhere in the physical universe (Ps 19.1). The Psalmist focuses, of course, on the universe as he knew it, before Galileo and before NASA; he exults that this knowledge is plain throughout the whole earth (Ps 19.3-4a). He chooses as his primary illustration the sun, both in the faithfulness of its daily appearance (Ps 19.2) and in the all-pervasive power of its light (Ps 19.4b-6). Every natural phenomenon, both the edifying and the destructive, are from God’s hand and subject to his perfect will.
In human life. God is intimately involved with the life of each of his human images, whether or not they realize or acknowledge it.
- He gives life. God is the one who decides whether a human life will begin. As Moses succinctly put it, “He is your life, and the length of your days” (Dt 30.20); in other words, he brings you into the world, and he takes you out of it. When I was a boy, the family next door had two sons, one about my age. The older boy died of cystic fibrosis as a young teen. A few years later, his brother, the one my age, died in a car accident. Two of my schoolmates died young, one just before graduation (another car accident) and the other just after (she was murdered). But I’m pushing 70. Who made those decisions? None of us did; God determines our birth and the length of our days.
- He directs life’s circumstances. David observes that God “knows” everything he does (Ps 139.2-3); but he’s clearly thinking of more than just an academic knowledge: he says, “You have enclosed me behind and before, and laid Your hand upon me” (Ps 139.5 NASB95). Is that true only of David? Or is he speaking of the normal human condition? The rest of the psalm answers that question clearly.
- In national affairs. Daniel says (and he was certainly in a position to know) that God “removes kings, and sets them up” (Da 2.21). He raised up Assyria against Israel; he raised up Nebuchadnezzar against Judah (Jer 25.8-14); he raised up Cyrus to return Judah from captivity (Is 45.1-4). He has raised up our government—Democrat and Republican, wise and foolish, good and evil, competent and incompetent.
In heavenly affairs. Paul writes, “By him [Christ] were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him” (Co 1.16). He’s describing supernatural powers here—angels and demons. And they answer to God and obey him—even (as in the case of Satan himself) when they do not want to (1Co 2.8).

Yes, God’s in charge. Everywhere. At all times.

Next time we’ll look at some specific ways he demonstrates that principle.

Part 2: How? | Part 3: Joseph, For Example | Part 4: And Naomi | Part 5: And Esther | Part 6: And the Seed of the Woman

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash

Worth It, Part 5: Making It Worth It

July 20, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Greatest Cause | Part 2: The Greatest Consequences | Part 3: Another Greatest Consequence | Part 4: The Greatest Cost

Paying a price in suffering for belonging to Jesus is to be expected, and it’s well worth it, for multiple reasons.

So how do we proceed? How do we prepare for the hardships that will likely come along the way?

There are two sections of this passage that address this question. The first is in verses 13 through 17; the second is in verse 22. This is where the passage becomes largely imperative. How does Peter command us to prepare for the opposition and suffering that so often come to God’s people?

Get serious (1P 1.13a). Peter’s metaphor, “gird up the loins of your mind,” means simply to get ready to get to work. And with that comes the command to “be sober,” or serious. This is serious business; we don’t approach it as something trivial or a sideline issue. This is focused on the coming “revelation” of Jesus Christ himself. The New Bible Commentary comments, “This phrase pictures not so much the return of one who is absent as the unveiling of one who has been with us all the time” (p 1375). As Daniel’s three friends can testify, God is with us in the fire. We face it with serious determination.
Take the long view (1P 1.13b). To “hope to the end” is to be focused on a confident expectation of a positive outcome, and an endurance until it comes. This means, of course, that you focus not on the trial, but on Christ, who has sent the trial and who is using it to accomplish his good purposes. As they say, keep your eyes on the prize.
Reject the past (1P 1.14). You’ve already turned away from the sins that defined your life before salvation; now don’t go back. Remember Lot’s wife.
Cross the line (1P 1.15-16). You’ve left those old ways to join a new team—or to put it more bluntly and biblically, to become God’s servant and son or daughter. You’ve changed sides; you’re over here now, and you’re not going back; so identify clearly and publicly with your new Master, and take whatever hardship comes.
Stay serious (1P 1.17). This is a new life, and a lifelong commitment. You’re in for the long haul. So plan to stay on this path, in this relationship, committed to the lifestyle, all the way to the end. Peter says to pass the time “in fear.” Not cowering, defensive, expecting blows and punishment from a master who despises and abuses you—that was the old master, not this one. But rather reverently, delighted with God’s awesomeness, and determined not to think, do, or say anything that that would disappoint or misrepresent him.
Live out love (1P 1.22). Your new relationship involves more than just God—though he would be more than enough. He has placed you into the body of Christ, the church. And bodies have multiple parts, useful for different purposes, which all work together to accomplish the goals of the head. We’re teammates in the largest project ever conceived. So we cherish one another, help one another, encourage one another, support one another. Peter will develop this concept more in the next paragraph, which is also the next chapter and thus a different series. Which you can read here.

Maybe we’ll face persecution like that faced by the ancient saints, and by our brothers and sisters in other parts of the world. Maybe we won’t. But we’re not promised immunity, and we should be prepared should it come. We make that preparation now, before the time. And as we prepare we determine, with absolute certainty, that whatever hardships may come, the cause is Worth It.

Photo by Jose P. Ortiz on Unsplash

Worth It, Part 4: The Greatest Cost

July 17, 2023 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1: The Greatest Cause | Part 2: The Greatest Consequences | Part 3: Another Greatest Consequence

Peter now takes some time to develop the concept of the price paid to rescue us from our sin and to secure us as the Father’s particular people.

He begins with a surprising fact: the suffering and then the exaltation of the Christ is so profound, and so incomprehensible, that the prophets themselves didn’t understand what they were writing:

¹⁰Of which salvation the prophets have inquired and searched diligently, who prophesied of the grace that should come unto you: ¹¹Searching what, or what manner of time the Spirit of Christ which was in them did signify, when it testified beforehand the sufferings of Christ, and the glory that should follow (1P 1.10-11).

They wrote what the Spirit drove them to write, but they didn’t understand it—what Christ’s suffering and consequent glory were accomplishing, and when those things would be accomplished. We see an example of that in Daniel, where the prophet expresses his puzzlement, asks for an explanation, and is told to stop asking questions (Da 12.4, 8-9).

It is indeed an enormously incomprehensible thing, calling to mind the words of Charles Wesley:

Amazing love! How can it be
That thou my God shouldst die for me!

Peter may well be thinking of Daniel’s experience when he writes,

Unto whom it was revealed, that not unto themselves, but unto us they did minister the things, which are now reported unto you by them that have preached the gospel unto you with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven; which things the angels desire to look into (1P 1.12).

This is the kind of thing that can’t be comprehended ahead of time; we can make sense of it only in retrospect. The plan of God is like that.

And what is at the center of this great plan?

A sacrifice of infinite worth: the sin offering of the Son himself.

Not temporal, corruptible things like silver and gold (1P 1.18). Not the blood of an earthly lamb, however hale and healthy and perfect.

Not the blood of a fallen human, even an unusually good and kind one—for “all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Ro 3.23).

The blood of Christ, the Lamb of God (1P 1.19).

The blood of a perfect human, who is perfect only because he is also God himself. Divine blood.

We’re well beyond our depth here, speaking of things internal to the Godhead, the mysterious triunity of God. If you think you understand it, there’s something you haven’t included in your model. It’s utterly beyond us.

I don’t know how God could become man, and neither do you. Nor did the church fathers, some of the smartest people in history, who wrestled with this question for four centuries and finally chose to state what happened without explaining it, in what’s called the Creed of Chalcedon.

Peter notes one more fact. This plan, this commitment to rescue, was hatched “from the foundation of the world” (1P 1.20). God did not avoid creating us, though he knew what the cost of rescuing us from our eventual rebellion would be. He did not hesitate. He was all in, from the very beginning.

What a love! What a cost!
We stand forgiven at the cross!
(Stuart Townend)

This cost should give us some sense of the weight of our sin.

I see “deconstructionists” today criticizing the atonement as unnecessary, especially unnecessarily violent. In making that charge they demonstrate their complete lack of understanding of the sinfulness of sin, of the holiness of God, and most especially of the love of God, that he would pay such a price to redeem those who had declared themselves, starkly and viciously and repeatedly, to be his enemies. They blame the only person in the entire picture who is completely not to blame.

And, I add, it is for such people that Christ chose to die.

Peter has one more point to make.

Next time.

Part 5: Making It Worth It

Photo by Jose P. Ortiz on Unsplash

Worth It, Part 3: Another Greatest Consequence

July 13, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Greatest Cause | Part 2: The Greatest Consequences

So far in the passage Peter has presented four great consequences of God’s work in us: great mercy, great confidence, a great inheritance, and great protection. But as I noted in the previous post, he’s just getting started.

Joy—in Trial

In the next verse he identifies another consequence, one that should not surprise us, at least initially: Wherein ye greatly rejoice (1P 1.6).

In what? In the salvation mentioned in verse 5—the certain, final salvation toward which God’s protection is ultimately keeping us. That’s certainly something in which we can rejoice.

But the verse doesn’t end there, and what it says next surprises us:

Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be, ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations (1P 1.6).

At the moment, Peter says, we’re “in heaviness” (“you have been distressed” NASB; “you suffer grief” CSB // ESV NIV). Now, who on earth would rejoice under those circumstances? Has Peter lost his mind? Does he really mean that we can rejoice in the midst of trials? Especially trials such as Peter will describe in this epistle: “suffering wrongfully” (1P 2.19), suffering as Christ our example did (1P 2.21), suffering “evil” and “railing” (1P 3.9), suffering “for righteousness’ sake” in “terror” (1P 3.14), when “they speak evil of you, as of evildoers” (1P 3.16), suffering a “fiery trial” (1P 4.12), being “reproached for the name of Christ” (1P 4.14)?

How can he say this?

I note that Peter is in a position to speak knowledgeably about this; he is “a witness of the sufferings of Christ”(1P 5.1), and he knows that suffering awaits him at the end as well (Jn 21.18-19).

In an act of grace, Peter doesn’t leave us in the dark; he tells us why we can rejoice in suffering:

First, these hardships are temporary; they are “for a season” (1P 1.6).
Second, they are necessary—“if need be” (1P 1.6). That is, they are not random or purposeless; they are accomplishing something in us; specifically,
- They test the quality of our faith (1P 1.7); they show us how we’re doing in the trust department. I’m sure that you occasionally are completely surprised by some reactive word or action that you demonstrate under stress. I am, and I’ve written about that before. We need those experiences to direct our growth; if we don’t know we’re sick, we’re not likely to buy the prescription.
- They purify that faith, the way a fire purifies molten metal (1P 1.7). As the weaknesses and imperfections are brought to the surface, they can be dealt with and removed. To put it bluntly, the trial makes us a better product.
- Because the trials are more than we can deal with naturally, they drive us to Christ for grace and strength, thereby demonstrating our faith in him and strengthening in us the habit of seeking him first (1P 1.8). In so doing, they demonstrate the genuineness of our faith and thereby strengthen it. In truth, then, the trials aren’t the direct cause of our rejoicing; our rejoicing is in Christ, and our trials, by driving us to him, drive us to the source of our joy.
- Let’s not pass over an important phrase in this passage: Whom having not seen, ye love (1P 1.8). Underlying our reaction to our trials—our rejoicing in our trials—is the world-changing fact of a loving relationship. Another accomplishment of trials is that they reinforce the solidity of our relationship with Christ, just as a difficult experience in a marriage—injury, illness, death of a family member—can strengthen the marriage bond well beyond that experienced by those with light, easy lives.

We rejoice when we are in the embrace of Christ. It should be no surprise, then, that we can rejoice when trials come. As Spurgeon supposedly* said,

“I have learned to kiss the waves that throw me up against the Rock of Ages.”

* I have been unable to find this quotation in Spurgeon’s writings. If any reader can, I’d be delighted to know where it is.

Part 4: The Greatest Cost | Part 5: Making It Worth It

Photo by Jose P. Ortiz on Unsplash

Worth It, Part 2: The Greatest Consequences

July 10, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Greatest Cause

It shouldn’t surprise us that a plan devised by the triune Godhead should have unequaled consequences. Peter lays out a series of these in the ensuing verses in 1Peter 1.

Great Mercy

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead (1P 1.3).

Peter’s opening salvo is that the Father has, and has demonstrated, “abundant mercy.” In biblical terms, mercy is typically the withholding of deserved punishment. In the face of our brokenness and consequent rebellion, God has chosen not to demand from us the negative consequences that our rebellion so richly deserves. Instead of death—the appropriate consequence of sin—God has opted to give us life, new life, abundant life, eternal life. He has called out to millions of long-dead and putrid Lazaruses, “Come forth!”—and we have been born again, able to see and hear and taste and smell and touch the spiritual realities with which we have always been surrounded but to which we were completely insensitive. This is a great mercy indeed.

Great Confidence

The same verse identifies the next consequence: hope. As Bible teachers have often said, biblical hope is not a feeble, unfounded wish; it is the confident anticipation of something that is certainly coming. By raising his Son from the dead, the Father has demonstrated the certainty of our resurrection as well, giving us firm confidence in his promise and joyous anticipation of its coming.

And what a day that will be, when millions of the dead are reunited with their reconstituted bodies and raised, never to die again.

Great Inheritance

To an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you (1P 1.4).

To our astonishment God has not only withheld deserved punishment (mercy); he has poured out undeserved blessings and benefits (grace). Not only have we been delivered from hell, but we have been promised an inheritance—unimagined wealth from our infinitely wealthy Father.

Peter uses three adjectives to describe this inheritance, all of them negations: incorruptible, undefiled, unfading. An inheritance that’s incorruptible can’t die or decay; one that’s undefiled can’t be soiled; one that’s unfading can’t wilt like a cut flower. This inheritance is for good, in every sense of the word.

You add an inheritance like that to the confidence that it will certainly come, and you really have something significant.

Great Protection

Who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time (1P 1.5).

Now Peter adds to the certainty by noting that we are being looked after by God himself, infinitely powerful, to ensure that we arrive at this inheritance. This word “kept” is a military word, used of a watchguard, a group of soldiers assigned to keep something secure. Paul uses it of the guard that was placed on Damascus to keep him from escaping (2Co 11.32). As we know, he did escape, being lowered over the wall in a basket in the middle of the night (2Co 11.33). Soldiers are not omniscient, and they don’t see everything. But God is not like that; he knows, he sees, and so he protects perfectly. If you are a believer, my friend, you will be kept; you will receive your inheritance when the earthly journey is complete.

It’s worth noting that in the previous verse Peter has told us that our inheritance is “reserved in heaven for [us].” That means that our Father, whose power is infinite, is watching both ends of this situation; he’s guarding the inheritance that’s waiting for us, and he’s guarding us as well, to see that we get where we’re going. This calls for great confidence.

Peter’s just getting started. More on this next time.

Part 3: Another Greatest Consequence | Part 4: The Greatest Cost | Part 5: Making It Worth It

Photo by Jose P. Ortiz on Unsplash

It’s Worth It, Part 1: The Greatest Cause

July 6, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Life can be hard.

It’s harder for some people than for others, of course. I’ve been privileged to grow up in a country that’s relatively free, in areas of that country (the Northwest, New England, and post-Jim Crow South Carolina) that have been untouched by violent upheaval. My early years were in the middle class—lower middle class, certainly, but we always had a place to live and food to eat and clothes to wear.

David expressed frustration that “the wicked” seemed to have easier lives than God’s people (Ps 37, 73). I wonder whether he was just noticing those “wicked” who indeed had easier lives, and not taking into account the many “wicked” whose lives were utterly miserable.

In our day, and particularly in the US, it’s hard to make the case that believers as a group have a harder go of it than non-Christians do. I’ve written on that before.

But it’s also true that following Jesus does cost something; Jesus taught that principle himself (Lk 14.25-33). Of the biblical passages that address the problem of “suffering for Jesus,” none is more explicit or encouraging than Peter’s first epistle. Though I’ve written a series on a portion of that book as well, I’d like to look at a different portion and talk about a different lesson from the letter.

The pervading theme of 1 Peter is suffering, and specifically suffering because of one’s obedience to Jesus. Peter matter-of-factly reports the fact of suffering and then applies it in the three institutional spheres of life: the state (1P 2.13-20), the home (1P 3.1-12), and the church (1P 5.1-11).

In the first chapter he spells out the reasons why this hardship is worth it. He begins with the primary cause of the suffering: we as God’s people have been called to live for him (1P 1.2).

We have been chosen by the foreknowledge (or, more likely, foreordination; the same Greek word occurs in 1P 1.20) of God the Father—which choosing occurred, Paul tells us elsewhere, even before the foundation of the world (Ep 1.4).
We have been set apart by the Holy Spirit as God’s own special people, what Peter calls in the next chapter (1P 2.9) God’s “peculiar people” (KJV) or “a people for [God’s] own possession” (NASB // ESV).
We have been sprinkled—cleansed—with the very blood of Christ, at the cost of his own life. Peter’s use of the term “sprinkling” is theologically and culturally significant; the Mosaic Covenant was ratified with Israel by the sprinkling of the blood of the burnt offerings on the altar and then on the people themselves, as evidence that they were part of the Covenant (Ex 24.3-8). Peter, then, is clearly tying the death of Christ to the Mosaic Covenant and identifying his audience as participants in the New Covenant.

We are the objects, then, of the greatest work possible: a united and certain plan of the entire Godhead to form a covenant relationship with his people. This is much greater than my life circumstances, or yours, or those of all of us put together, and it is a worthy investment of our time and resources, regardless of the personal cost to us.

And that is not abusive, because it is consensual. We come to Christ willingly, and we determine that the cost of discipleship is a price worth paying.

Let me spend a few lines on a related issue.

We do not come to Christ simply because it’s a wise investment for us, because the payback is so much greater than the cost—and it truly is. If this is our primary motivation, then we are worshiping ourselves and not God; we are transacting business with God because it’s in our own best interests.

No.

We come to God because we should, because he is our Creator, because he is our Redeemer, because he is our Life and our Hope and our Goal. We live for him because he deserves it. We live for him as an acknowledgement of his greatness, his glory, and his right.

Next time, we’ll look further into Peter’s reasons that suffering for Christ is worth it.

Part 2: The Greatest Consequences | Part 3: Another Greatest Consequence | Part 4: The Greatest Cost | Part 5: Making It Worth It

Photo by Jose P. Ortiz on Unsplash

Unchanging God, Part 3: So What?

July 3, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Stated | Part 2: Why?

The fact that God doesn’t change makes a difference to his people, and to everyone else. Let’s talk about that.

Trustworthiness

God keeps his promises. Sometimes we make promises with the best of intentions, but changing circumstances prevent our keeping them. I’ve done that multiple times, once with a big promise, to my daughter.

That doesn’t happen to God. As I noted at the beginning of this series, God told Moses at the burning bush that he is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—and the point of that observation is that now, in Moses’ day, he’s going to keep the promises he made to those patriarchs centuries earlier.

As he states in the Law of Moses,

God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent: hath he said, and shall he not do it? or hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good? (Nu 23.19).

And again in the Prophets,

The LORD of hosts hath sworn, saying, Surely as I have thought, so shall it come to pass; and as I have purposed, so shall it stand (Is 14.24).

That means that he’s not like anybody else you know. He’s not like an unfaithful spouse or a deserting parent. Horrific experiences like those can change the way we think about every aspect of life; but we cannot conclude that God will act similarly.

Mercy

One consequence of keeping promises is mercy. When my wife and I got married, we made promises to one another. And because we intend to keep those promises, she has repeatedly shown me mercy, forgiving my transgressions.

God does the same thing. If you are his child, he shows you mercy.

Many of us, knowing our ongoing sinfulness, feel as though we can’t run to our heavenly Father. That’s exactly the wrong feeling. Because he keeps his promises—even when we don’t—he will show us mercy. He is exactly the person to whom we should run.

After all of Israel’s failings, God told them,

I am the LORD, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed (Mal 3.6).

Confidence

And that means that we can expect him to keep his promises. That is not presumption; it’s faith. It’s exactly what he wants us to do. The Psalmist writes,

The counsel of the LORD standeth forever, the thoughts of his heart to all generations (Ps 33.11).

Governments and economies fail. Relationships sour. Joys disappear. But God does not change.

Fear

This one is obviously a shift in tone, but it needs to be said.

God cannot fail, and thus he cannot be overthrown. Those who defy his will, who reject his character, who denounce his ways, will not prevail—and that places them in an infinitely precarious situation, like that of Jonathan Edwards’s famous spider. Apart from repentance, they will be crushed. And yes, they should be afraid. The wisest man who ever lived wrote,

I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be forever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him (Ec 3.14).

Victory

But for his people, God’s certain victory is a source of great joy and anticipation. God will never be defeated; his plans will be accomplished; and his people will be delivered.

The Scripture ends with a dazzling presentation of the glory of God the Son, who says to his closest friend on earth,

I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, … which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty (Re 1.8).

That friend, John the Apostle, writes,

And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead (Re 1.17).

And then John says,

And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last: 18 I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death (Re 1.17-18).

We can rest in this almighty, unchangeable God.

Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

Unchanging God, Part 2: Why?

June 29, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Stated

So why do things change? Why do people change? There are many reasons, but I think we can summarize them in a few basic causes.

Maturation

As I noted in the previous post, all of us have experienced change as part of growing up. As we mature, we gain knowledge by observation and education, and we gain skills because our bodies and our brains increase their capacity for work. We get better by practice. And one of the great joys in life is to see that improvement happen—to realize that we can do things that we couldn’t do before, that we understand things that were a complete mystery to us.

Growth is a delight, because it means improvement.

But God isn’t like that. He knows all things; he can do all things; he’s already perfect, so he doesn’t need to improve—in fact, it’s impossible for him to improve. If you’re on the mountaintop, any movement is downhill. For God, any change would be a decline—which would be unthinkable.

Does his perfection deprive him of “one of the great joys in life,” the joy of learning and improving? Au contraire, mon ami. His perfection—or I should say his perfections—are greater joy to him, and to us, than mere improvement could ever be. His attributes—love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faithfulness, meekness, self-control, and all the rest—bring him utter satisfaction. And part of that satisfaction, I suppose, comes from our satisfaction in those same attributes as we experience them from him, perfect, unfailing, always sufficient.

No need to grow or learn or improve. Perfect.

Changeless.

Decay

Everything in this world—and every physical thing everywhere else in the universe—is on a determined course to the landfill. Your shiny new car will one day take a trip through a crusher, to either rust away as a nondescript hunk of metal or be recycled into something else. Your house, after some undetermined number of renovations, will fall to pieces and be demolished so the lot can be used for something else—even if along the way it achieves temporary status as a historical landmark.

And don’t even think about that swing set in the back yard; it’ll be nonfunctional far sooner than you can imagine.

Your body, and your mind, will fall into disrepair, if the Lord tarries, and “you” will be placed in a box and laid to rest.

All things must pass.

Except.

God is not like that. He does not decay; he does not even tire or sleep. He is the very definition of life and strength and vitality.

Changeless.

Irresistible Outside Influences

Sometimes change is forced upon us.

Years ago I was on a business trip to Puerto Rico. My task—a delightful one, I might add—was to drive around the island, visit the Christian schools I knew about, and look for any others along the way. (What a great gig!)

As it happened, a hurricane—Georges by name—had been through several weeks earlier. Recovery had been long, slow, and painful. Everywhere I drove I saw evidences of its destructive force. Roofs torn off. Powerlines—and poles—down. Fruit trees heavily damaged.

And this wasn’t “the big one.” Twenty years later Hurricane Maria came through, causing 15 times as much damage, damage that has still not been completely repaired.

People who think they want to ride out a hurricane are just not, um, right in the head. These are forces well beyond our ability to control or resist.

There are other such forces. House fire. Financial setback. Dissolution of relationships. We know how it goes. Sometimes it’s all just too much.

God is never in that situation. There are no forces greater than he is. He has no enemies who can frustrate, stymie, or even delay his plans. Even the greatest evil act of his greatest enemy—the assassination of Messiah—not only didn’t frustrate his plan, but was actually a key part of its accomplishment.

God is that great.

Changeless.

Next time: so what?

Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

Unchanging God, Part 1: Stated

June 26, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

A couple of years ago I wrote a series here on how we deal with change. I’d like to supplement that by focusing on a balancing and steadying truth—that however much change we find in our circumstances, we belong to a God who does not change. I’d particularly like to explore the reasons for his changelessness.

We experience change in life circumstances from our earliest days. Some of these are changes we anticipate eagerly; as a child grows, he looks forward to every new skill, every new level of freedom. He moves from elementary to middle school (well, in my day we called in junior high …) and then to high school, and then, probably, to college, and maybe even to graduate school. When he’s 16 he can get his driver’s license; when he’s 18 he can vote; when he’s 21 he can rent a car—and do a bunch of other stuff that he really shouldn’t; when he’s 25, his car insurance rates go down, because his prefrontal cortex has finally developed.

But there are other changes that we don’t want. Someone we love moves away or dies; parents separate; a child becomes a stranger; finances fall apart.

When I was boy, and my father’s employment situation was a little tenuous, we moved several times as he followed the work. By the time I was 6, we had lived in at least 5 places in southeastern Washington State, finally ending up in Greenacres, out in the Spokane Valley. But 5 years later we moved away again, and this time all the way across the country, to Massachusetts.

That was hard. New schools in 4^th, 5^th, 6^th, 7^th, and 8^th grades. And a longing for a sense of home.

Change unsettles us, takes us off our game.

And we all know that it helps a lot if we have elements of stability throughout the times of change. After the cross-country move I noticed that in Newtonville, MA, we lived a block from the Mass Pike, or I-90—and in Greenacres we’d lived within a mile of the same interstate. So, I joked, I’d moved across the country and still lived on the same street. More seriously, I’m glad that when my houses and friendships were changing during those early years, I had parents and siblings who were with me throughout; there was always family.

We need stability.

By far the greatest source of that stability is God himself. Our experience of him may change over time—Job was certainly aware of that—but he is always the same; he does not change.

How do we know that?

Well, the Bible tells us so. :-)

I find it noteworthy that this stability is implicit in his name—his personal name, that is, what Americans might call his “first name.” When Moses asks God what his name is, God tells him, “I am who I am” (Ex 3.14). Through the centuries, and across the cultural gaps, God remains who he is. And he demonstrates that to Moses there at the burning bush by calling himself “the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob” (Ex 3.6). Four centuries earlier he had made promises to those patriarchs, and now he’s going to keep those promises by bringing their descendants out of slavery in Egypt and into a land of their own, the Promised Land, a land flowing with milk and honey.

Because he keeps his promises. He doesn’t change.

And today, when we call him Yahweh, or Jehovah, or the great I Am, we remind ourselves of that fundamental characteristic. We can count on him.

But Scripture does more than imply God’s changelessness; it states it outright. Both Numbers 23.19 and 1Samuel 15.29 say that God doesn’t lie or repent. James tells us that God has no variation or shifting shadow (Jam 1.17 NASB); and the Hebrew Scriptures end with the direct statement that “I the Lord do not change” (Mal 3.6).

And, perhaps surprisingly, this characteristic is attributed to the Son, Jesus, as well. The author of Hebrews quotes Psalm 102.26-27 and applies it to the Son:

Thou art the same, and thy years shall not fail (He 1.12).

And he repeats the concept at the end of the book:

Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and today, and forever (He 13.8).

Even as he became a man, he did not change.

Now. Why does God not change? I’d like to explore that a little bit by looking at why change happens to us and to our world, and then positing that those factors do not apply to God.

Next time.

Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

How to Care for Your Pastor, Part 6: Closing Thoughts

June 22, 2023 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1: Receive the Word | Part 2: Respect Him | Part 3: Remember Him | Part 4: Obey Him | Part 5: Reward Him

I think it’s worth devoting a post to some summary, synthesis, and extension.

Nothing in this series ought to be surprising. The way you should treat your pastor is the way you should treat anyone.

Some religious traditions draw a clear line between clergy and laity; others don’t. I grew up Baptist, which almost defines itself by denying such a distinction.

(By the way, that historical fact makes it all the more odd that some Baptist pastors of more recent vintage have acted more as popes—and bad ones—than as shepherds.)

Given my tradition, then, I’m not at all surprised or uncomfortable with the idea that we ought to treat our pastors the way we treat everybody else.

And we know instinctively how to do that. The Golden Rule. Think about how you can treat others the way you’d want to be treated. Say nice things. Lighten their load. Build them up; don’t tear them down.

Most people treat their close associates this way, if for no other reason than that they don’t want their lives filled with conflict and chaos, or because those others can do something to reciprocate. Jesus, of course, holds us to a higher standard, the Law of Love: we treat others well because God has loved us and enabled us to love others in a similar, though imperfect, way.

Why do we have this obligation? Two primary reasons. The first I’ve just mentioned: God’s grace to us has placed us in his debt, and we are now obligated to forgive as we have been forgiven and to love as we have been loved (2Co 5.14-21).

But there’s a more fundamental reason. All of us, every single one, from the greatest hero to “the least of these”—the unkempt, unclean man sleeping in the gutter—each one of us is an image of God Himself, a recipient of his character and attributes—though, yes, broken—and so all of us are of infinite worth, despite our failures, our foibles, our flaws. To love your neighbor is to love God, who is infinitely worthy of infinite, perfect love, the kind of love that we will never be able to give him.

We love our neighbors. And that includes our pastors.

Perhaps you’ve never experienced an emergent need for pastoral care. Perhaps you’ve never been in the hospital, or involved in planning a funeral while you’re so grief-stricken you can’t think straight. Perhaps you’ve never faced a decision so thorny, and so consequential, that you felt in way over your head.

Perhaps. I’m happy for you.

But, my friend, that day will come, almost as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow. And when it does, you will understand how much you need your pastor, and what it costs him emotionally and personally to walk that valley with you. How much better it will be, in that day, to walk it with a dear and trusted friend, than to do so with a relative stranger whom you listen to casually or distractedly for 25 minutes a week.

So place a value, personally, on his ministry to you in the pulpit and in the life of the church. Consider ways you can demonstrate to him the value of that ministry. Speak to him of what he has taught you, how he has changed your life for the better. Take his advice, when it’s good advice—and let him know you took it. Pay the man for his work, and with more than just money.

He’ll be glad you did.

And so will you.

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Unsplash