Dan Olinger

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.

Beyond All Praising

April 15, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

A favorite hymn of mine is “O God Beyond All Praising.” It’s a relatively recent work, written in 1982 by Michael Perry (d 1996), an Anglican priest. He wrote the text specifically to be used to the stately tune “Thaxted,” originally from the “Jupiter” section of The Planets by Gustav Holst. In 1908 Holst adapted it for use with a patriotic poem in the UK, “I Vow to Thee, My Country.” There are multiple arrangements of the hymn, including one by Dan Forrest.

I think the worship lyrics are wonderfully reinforced by Holst’s stately, serious, elevated tune and by Forrest’s arrangement of it. It draws you in and raises your soul to want to be a part of the worshiping throng, in a kind of foretaste of the ultimate choral worship (Rev 5.9-14).

Though God has not (yet) granted me a voice to sing these words as they deserve to be sung, I’ve committed the words to memory—

O God beyond all praising,
we worship you today
and sing the love amazing
that songs cannot repay;
for we can only wonder
at every gift you send,
at blessings without number
and mercies without end:
we lift our hearts before you
and wait upon your word,
we honour and adore you,
our great and mighty Lord.

Then hear, O gracious Saviour,
accept the love we bring,
that we who know your favour
may serve you as our king;
and whether our tomorrows
be filled with good or ill,
we’ll triumph through our sorrows
and rise to bless you still:
to marvel at your beauty
and glory in your ways,
and make a joyful duty
our sacrifice of praise.

I joy in the simple gratitude expressed here, and the firm determination to leverage that gratitude into trusting endurance, particularly as expressed in the words

Whether our tomorrows
be filled with good or ill,
we’ll triumph through our sorrows
and rise to bless you still.

I can imagine a glint in the eyes and a steely set to the jaw of the person speaking: I will trust you. No matter what. We’ll get through this.

Good words in fearsome days.

Incidentally, a Catholic lyricist wrote a new second (and thus middle) stanza—

The flower of earthly splendor
in time must surely die,
its fragile bloom surrender to you,
the Lord most high;
but hidden from all nature
the eternal seed is sown–
though small in mortal stature,
to heaven’s garden grown;
for Christ the man from heaven
from death has set us free,
and we through him
are given the final victory.

It’s good to be reminded—regularly—that God is great, and God is good, and that his ways are perfect. I know people today who are struggling under burdens of bereavement, abandonment, disease, fear, their own weakness. We can all be strengthened in the knowledge that Someone is greater than all these things, so great that he can use them for our benefit.

And he loves us.

Photo by Gabriel Lamza on Unsplash

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

Just One Thing …, Part 2

April 1, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1

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

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

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

He tells us in the passage—

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

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

Forgetting the Past

Paul puts out of his mind what lies behind.

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

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

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

What’s that?

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

We all can waste a lot of time and effort focusing

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

But those things are indeed insignificant, comparatively speaking.

Eyes on the Prize

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

I press toward the mark.

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

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

Yikes.

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

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

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

Do I?

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

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

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

But one. One thing.

Press forward.

Photo by Nicolas Hoizey on Unsplash

Just One Thing …, Part 1

March 29, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

Distractions, indeed.

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

He was single-minded.

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

One thing I do.

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

But one.

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

But one.

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

One thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 2

Photo by Nicolas Hoizey on Unsplash

The Eye of the Storm, Part 2

March 25, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1

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

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

Flee as a bird to your mountain!

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

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

They also note the consequences of inaction.

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

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

That’s their case.

Now David presents his.

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

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

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

His Person

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His Perspective

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

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

His countenance doth behold the upright (v 7).

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

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

His Plan

God has plans for every actor on the battlefield.

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

The Lord trieth the righteous (v 5).

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

They get tired.

But they get great.

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

God also has plans for those who threaten his people.

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

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

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

But the outcome is certain.

Fear not.

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

The Eye of the Storm, Part 1

March 22, 2021 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

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

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

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

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

Here’s the whole Psalm—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think this Psalm is timely for these days.

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

Part 2

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

On 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