Dan Olinger

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

Dan Olinger

Chair, Division of Biblical Studies & Theology,

Bob Jones University

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No Matter What

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I had an impactful experience recently that I’d like to share.

I’ve had a hearing problem since I was a boy and had a disagreement with a calf on the family farm; I wanted to ride him, and he disagreed. I landed on the right side of my head and heard something pop. That ear has been significantly impaired since then.

In recent years, with aging, the other ear has been declining as well. This summer I decided to get hearing aids, and I’ve been delighted with the experience; I should have done that long ago.

Six weeks later, one morning I woke up deaf. The “bad ear” was its normal self, but the “good ear” was just gone; it was now by far the “bad ear.” (I came to that realization when I flushed the toilet and heard absolutely nothing.)

Popped in the hearing aids—I’m glad I had them to fall back on—and found that when I cranked them all the way up, I could hear juuuust a little bit.

This was the first day of meetings for the returning faculty to start the school year, and I really needed to be able to hear at least some of what was going on. Made it a matter of prayer and headed off to work.

I managed to get through the day hearing enough to fulfill my responsibilities, but any of you with hearing aids knows that having them turned all the way up means that all the ambient noise is screaming inside your head all day, so it was fairly unpleasant. In fact, a colleague took me aside at one point and asked if I was feeling OK. I was surprised that my distress was noticeable and tried to make it less so for the rest of the day. :-\

That night I tinkered around with possible solutions, to no apparent effect, and went to bed.

Next morning, still deaf.

I did my usual personal devotional time, and in my prayer time I asked the Lord, if he was willing, to clear up the problem. I presented him with a couple of reasons why I thought my being able to hear would be better than the current situation—

  • I teach the Bible to Christian students, and they seem to benefit from it, and hearing their questions enables me to teach more effectively.
  • In times of worship, I’m much more inclined to rejoice when I hear the congregational singing of my church family—even though, truthfully, I don’t contribute much musical quality to it.

So I asked him to intervene.

And then.

I thought for a minute, and I told him something else.

“Father, if you don’t enable me to hear ever again, I’m going to serve you the best I can, without complaint. You have been unfailingly good to me for 60 years as a believer, and for several years before that. I trust you, and I will still trust you and serve you for every tomorrow. I’m with you.

No matter what.”

And I meant it.

That was a deeply significant moment.

I finished my devotional procedure and then, as was my custom, I took a shower. And during the shower, my hearing came back. I don’t want to get all TMI here—the queasy can look away—but the problem was a simple mechanical blockage by earwax.

So it was really no significant problem at all.

But I didn’t know that when I was praying, and I meant what I said. I will always remember the volitional significance of that experience.

And here’s what occurred to me then.

It was my ignorance that made the moment powerful. If I had known that this was just wax, and that the (completely nonsupernatural) solution was just moments away, I would never have faced the opportunity to make that significant choice.

God could have taught me that lesson by making me really deaf for the rest of my life—and that would have been fine, good even. But he knew he didn’t need to do that. All it would take was a little lump of earwax and a couple of days. And my limited knowledge. And so he did what it took.

He’s a gracious, merciful God, who brings good things even out of ignorance.

I’m all in.

No matter what.

Photo by nikko macaspac on Unsplash

On Muddling Through

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8 By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. 9 By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. 10 For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God (He 11).

I’ve heard a lot of people comment these days on the uncertainty of our lives. It seems unusual, they say, the degree to which things are in general upheaval. They tend to focus on Covid, of course, especially with the Delta variant and the looming return of restrictions of various kinds. But they note that there’s more to this feeling, especially in the significant societal and cultural changes that seem to be accelerating.

There’s a part of me that says there’s nothing new under the sun; I’ve always been skeptical of the constant claim that “young people these days have it harder than ever.” But it does seem that the pace of change is speeding up.

I know a lot of people who are pretty much in Full Bore Linear Panic over all this. At the risk of being accused of insufficient empathy, let me offer a few words of psychical stabilization. (And yes, I know that no one in the history of the world has ever been calmed down by being told to calm down.)

I’ve written before on the societal uncertainty that the pandemic has brought, but I’d like to share some further thoughts along that line.

There is a very real sense in the Scripture that we’re mostly blind and consequently just sort of muddling along through life. We’re constantly reminded that we’re not God—though by nature we’d very much like to be—and that our knowledge and wisdom are infinitesimal in comparison with his. Paul tells us that “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2Co 5.7), and the writer to the Hebrews develops that concept at considerable length in chapter 11, a portion of which appears above. Abraham, we’re told, went out, not knowing where he was going.

We all feel like that sometimes.

Maybe you know people who started life with a plan and executed it perfectly. My life, in contrast, began with making a plan and seeing it crash when I was 16, and then just sort of stumbling along as doors opened. At the time, it wouldn’t have impressed any career coaches. But in retrospect, it’s been a straight line and makes a lot of sense.

Life’s funny that way.

To one degree or another, we’re all Abraham. We come from somewhere else and are just resident aliens here, living in tents (most of us metaphorically).

Some immigrants cling tightly to their ethnic identity. When my people came over from the Rhine Valley in 1741, they settled in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, briefly but soon hiked down to a German colony in Newmarket, Virginia, where they helped start a Lutheran Church—that’s what Germans do, right?—and married other Germans. From my youth in Boston I recall fondly the Italian North End and Irish South Boston, and the clear cultural identity of those places.

But eventually, typically, immigrants blend in, intermarry, and assume the culture to which they’ve come. It happened to Judah in Babylon; it happened to the Olingers in America; and it happens pretty much everywhere.

In a spiritual sense, though, we don’t have that option.

We’re from someplace else, and we’ll always be from someplace else, and we can’t—mustn’t—make this place the determiner of our fortunes, our emotions, our spiritual health. The uncertainties that are part of living in a foreign place must not drive us to fear, because we have a Father who knows all and directs all, even though he often doesn’t clue us in to everything that’s going on. What looks like chaos to us looks like a beautiful fractal to him, and he’s doing something spectacular.

We don’t know what that something is, exactly, but we know whose work it is, and that fact gives us the ability to be calm in the midst of the storm, confident in the midst of uncertainty, joyous with anticipation in the midst of societal panic—not because we don’t care, or because we’re not empathetic, or because we’re just stupid, but because we know where it’s all heading.

In short, because we believe Dad—which, given his record, is a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash

The Eye of the Storm, Part 2

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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. 6 Upon 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

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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! 2 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. 3 If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?!”

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

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

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Part 1: The Basics | Part 2: The Way

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

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

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

Simple faith. Simple grace.

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

What about that? It’s mentioned, right?

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

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

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

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

Simple faith. Simple grace.

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

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

Photo by Alora Griffiths on Unsplash

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

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

Well then. Bask in the sunlight of warm assurance.

It is finished.

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

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

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

Simple Faith, Simple Grace, Part 2: The Way

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Part 1: The Basics

In the previous post we let Paul define the gospel:

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

Simple enough.

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

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

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

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

But it gets worse.

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

Deep trouble, indeed.

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

That’s really good news.

All this raises another question, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Repent
  • Believe

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

We call that turn conversion. One simple act.

Simple faith. Simple grace.

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

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

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

Simple Faith, Simple Grace, Part 1: The Basics

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It’s important, every so often, to revisit the basics, to go back to first principles.

These days I’m working on something that has me thinking about how to communicate the gospel, and the basics of the Christian life, to those for whom it is a brand-new concept.

It was a long time ago—about 60 years, in fact—when the gospel was new to me. Over the years I’ve learned a lot about the gospel and about its effects and outcomes. I’ve also had the privilege of teaching Bible and theology in several widely different cultures. Time and experience tend to fill your mind with lots of related and derived concepts, to the point that you need to remind yourself to just go back to the beginning and think about the topic simply, as if for the first time. The first time I heard it, as a five- or six-year-old boy, it was simple enough for me to understand and believe.

Paul defines the gospel for us in 1Corinthians 15.3b-4—

that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures, 4 and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day according to the scriptures.

A lot of people read this as signifying that the gospel has 3 parts: death, burial, and resurrection. But that’s a misimpression that derives from the place where we stop reading—and where I stopped quoting. There’s more in verse 5—

… and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve.

As you know, Paul continues in the next verses to name a good many other witnesses of Christ’s post-resurrection appearances.

Death, burial, resurrection, witnesses.

Is the fact that there were eyewitnesses a part of the gospel? Does it have four parts?

Well, you’ve probably noticed that a phrase appears twice in this passage:

according to the scriptures

If you look at the passage closely, you’ll notice that it’s a pair of couplets:

  • that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures,
    • and that he was buried,
  • and that he was raised on the third day according to the scriptures
    • and that he appeared.

What’s the point of his appearances? They demonstrate that he rose.

What’s the point, then, of his burial? It demonstrates that he died.

So what’s the gospel?

Two points:

  1. He died for our sins. Certainly.
  2. He rose from the dead. Certainly.

And a corollary:

  • This was predicted. Planned.

That, my friends, is the gospel. God made it simple so that the least of these his brethren could understand it. I was able to understand it as a pre-school child with no previous Christian training. The history of missions tells us that in every culture in the world, in every kingdom, tribe, tongue, and nation, the gospel can be understood and received.

God is not the God of the elite—although the elite are welcome, if they will not count on their elititude.

God is the God of all who will come. And his Good News can be understood and embraced by them all.

So we’ve defined the gospel. But now we face another question:

Why is it good news? What do Christ’s death and resurrection have to do with us?

We’ll survey the biblical data on that in the next post.

Part 2: The Way | Part 3: Keeping It Simple | Part 4: Working It Out | Part 5: Keeping It Going

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

On Uncertainty

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Unusual times.

For the first time in my lifetime, the entire globe is wrapped in complete, and admitted, uncertainty.

I suppose the Cuban Missile Crisis back in 1962 came close, but that lasted only 13 days, and I suspect that a lot of people in corners of the globe were unaware that it was happening at the time. Here in Greenville, where we lost one of our own, we still memorialize it.

But now we’re dealing with a virus, which isn’t open to dissuasion and is no respecter of persons, and which, for whatever reasons, is pretty much everywhere. Add to that the ubiquity of media information—informed and uninformed—and the fact that suddenly everyone’s an expert in epidemiology, and you have a perfect storm of uncertainty, and all the consequences that it brings.

Different cultures deal with uncertainty in different ways. The Germans and the Swiss are stereotyped as planners, regimented and orderly. (I’ve found that like all stereotypes, this one is far too simplistic.) In various developing countries, I’ve noticed that uncertainty comes with the territory; you live one day at a time, getting up early to carry in the day’s water, and then going to the market to get the day’s food. Whenever the infrastructure is unreliable, the residents get used to the power or water outages, or the torn-up highways, and the culture develops a sort of resignation that often results in considerably better mental health than, say, most Americans would manifest in similar circumstances. In fact, American tourists in those cultures are largely responsible for the “Ugly American” stereotype all too common overseas.

I was once teaching overseas when the power went out, killing my data projector and thus my PowerPoint. The students sprang into action; here came a generator out of nowhere, and within 5 minutes we were back in business, with no one seeming to think that anything out of the ordinary had happened.

Once I took a team of students to a location where the city-supplied water was out, with no word on when it would be restored. For the five weeks we were there, we trucked in water, hauled it to our quarters in 5-gallon plastic buckets, and did our daily ablutions from smaller buckets. One of the male students and I had an informal contest on how little water we needed to get completely lathered and rinsed. I got it down to a liter—but then, having no hair gave me an unfair advantage.

My culture isn’t used to this sort of thing. Here in the early days of “social distancing,” we seem to be responding with creativity, helpfulness, and even amusement, from the looks of the memes—excepting the hoarders, of course. But as the situation drags on—it will drag on, won’t it? Or are we uncertain about that too?—anxiety increases, and it’s not unfounded. Lives are at risk; jobs are at risk; the economy is at risk—and the list could go on.

The situation doesn’t call for platitudes or for Pollyanna—or certainly not the cavalier dismissal of genuine threats. This is a time for us to pay attention, to care for one another, to sacrifice. It’s not a time to make light of other people’s suffering.

But it is a time for reflection on First Things, on Prime Principles. On what is certain. On Truth.

It is True—

  • That there is a God in heaven, who is great and good, and whose will is always done.
  • That there is abundant evidence throughout history and revelation of the truth of the first point.
  • That we cannot control the forces of nature as we would like.
  • That God has given us stewardship of this earth, however, and that consequently we should marshal all our knowledge and skills to protect life—our own and all others.
  • That in difficulty, with certain outcome or not, we must trust the goodness and greatness of our loving Creator: “Man’s steps are ordained by the Lord; how then can man understand his way?” (Prov 20.24).
  • That there is much, much more than this life.

And since these things are True, how do we proceed?

With confidence.

With care.

And with attention to the most important things.

Most of us have more time these days than we usually do, since we’re not going to work.

Use it—not for binge-watching whatever, but for loving God, for loving your neighbor, for doing justice, for loving mercy, for walking humbly with your God.

There is a good and wise outcome.

Certainly.

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash

“No Peeking!”

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When I arrived home after work one evening, one of my daughters, who was perhaps three or four years old at the time, met me at the door with delightful words.

“Daddy!  I have something to show you! Take my hand, and close your eyes, and no peeking!”

So I took her hand and (mostly) closed my eyes and let her lead me through the house to show me the surprise she had prepared for me.

All these years later, I don’t remember what the surprise was. I’m sure it was one of those things that, in truth, is a bigger deal in the eyes of the child than in the eyes of the parent. I do recall keeping one eye slightly slitted open, because I was pretty sure that she wasn’t thinking about doorframes, and I didn’t want to get knocked out.

Now, why did she want me to close my eyes?  Because even at her young age, she knew that joy is heightened by surprise, and surprise is intensified by anticipation.  And why did I go along with her?  Because I know and love her; because I trusted her to lead me to something good; and because I wanted her to enjoy seeing my joy when the surprise was unveiled.

Sometimes God meets us at the door, so to speak, and he asks us to take his hand, and close our eyes, and “No peeking!”

Most of us respond to that by drawing back and saying,  “What?  Where are you taking me?  Is this gonna hurt?”

Don’t we know him?  Don’t we trust him? Do we think he’s going to run us into a doorframe?

How hurtful do you suppose that is to him?

Why do we insist on seeing where he’s taking us?

He doesn’t hide the future from us to frighten us, or to disguise some evil and hurtful thing he has planned for us. He hides the future from us because he loves us—because he wants us to know the increased joy of anticipation and, eventually, revelation of the great things he has prepared for us, in both this life and the life to come.

And we should go along with him, not complaining and not asking accusatory questions, because we know him, because we trust him, and because we want him to enjoy seeing our joy when the surprise is unveiled.

When my daughter said, “OK, Daddy, open your eyes!” I looked first at the surprise—but then I looked immediately at her face, because I wanted to see her joy at my joy.  That’s a priceless experience, to see unrestrained joy in the face of someone you love.

Instead of worrying about where God may be taking us—and deeply hurting him in the process—we should prepare to see his face and the joy that we have placed there by simply taking his hand, closing our eyes, and not peeking.

Photo by Nourdine Diouane on Unsplash

The Gifts of Salvation, Part 10: Faith

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Introduction
Our relationship to sin:  Conviction / Repentance / Regeneration / Forgiveness / Redemption / Justification
Our relationship to God:
Before conversion: Election / Drawing / Faith
At conversion: Reconciliation / Positional sanctification / Adoption / Union with Christ / Spirit Baptism / Sealing / Indwelling / Assurance
After conversion: Progressive sanctification / Filling / Glorification
Conclusion

At some point in God’s drawing of us to himself—some people take longer than others—our mind changes. We begin to think differently about our own situation, especially about our desire for a relationship with God. We call that change “conversion,” and it’s the precise moment we’re referring to when we talk about “getting saved” or “coming to Jesus.”

In its simplest sense, conversion is simply turning. We speak of currency conversion as “turning dollars into shillings” (or whatever) when we travel. Using more physical language, at conversion we turn away from our sin—we’ve talked about that as “repentance”—and in the same action we turn toward Christ. It’s as though our sin is standing on our left, and Christ is standing on our right, and we simply turn from one to the other. The turning away from sin, as just noted, we call “repentance,” and the turning to Christ we call “faith.”

So conversion is a single act that includes both repentance and faith. In repentance we leave our old relationship with sin, and in faith we enter a new relationship with Christ.

That’s the moment when it all happens.

I think we complicate faith. We know what it’s like to turn away from one thing and turn toward something else. It’s both an intellectual and an emotional shift; because we don’t trust the old thing—it doesn’t satisfy us—we don’t want it anymore, and we turn toward something that we believe will help us. We trust it, and we’re willing to depend on it.

In this case, we believe that Jesus can solve our problem—forgive our sin—and we are ready to depend on him to do what he is capable of.

Because that’s not complicated, you don’t have to be very smart to do it.

How much do you have to know in order to trust Christ?

Do you have to know about and believe in the virgin birth?

No.

(Bear with me here.)

I’m guessing that most of us didn’t know what a virgin birth even was when we came to Jesus. We thought the Christmas carol was about some guy named “Round John Virgin.” Fortunately for us, you don’t have to assent to a whole list of complicated theological truths—and because God is infinite, truths about him are indeed complicated—in order to have him rescue you. Even a child—especially a child—can come to Jesus (Mk 10.14). Just trust him. Anybody can do that.

Now let me mollify some of my readers with the necessary disclaimer.

A believer will believe. He will know his Master’s voice (Jn 10.3, 4, 14). He will hear and believe the Word. And when in his Christian experience he learns that Jesus was born of a virgin, he will certainly believe it. No one who denies the virgin birth is a follower of the Shepherd.

But that comes later. At the beginning, in a simple act of trust, you just turn to Jesus.

Is it “blind faith”?

Hardly.

Is a marriage “blind faith”? Of course not—unless you’re a Moonie, perhaps.

When you marry someone, you do so based on shared experiences that have convinced you that this person is a worthwhile partner. Twenty years down the road, you’ll realize that you really didn’t know each other at all when you got married, but you can hardly say that your trust in your bride or groom was “blind faith.” There was a basis for your decision.

And there is a basis for this one. For millennia, this God has been proving himself faithful. We have been demonstrating ourselves faithless and brainless, in desperate need of rescue.

So trust him.

Photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash