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

 

Retired Bible Professor,

Bob Jones University

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In the Image of God, Part 3: One Last Thought 

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Part 1: What It Means | Part 2: So What? 

One last thought. 

Christ perfectly images God.  

In whom [i.e. the lost] the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them (2Co 4.4). 

[Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation (Co 1.15). 

[Christ] being the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person, and upholding all things by the word of his power, when he had by himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high (He 1.3). 

Those who have seen him, he said, have seen the Father (Jn 14.9). 

And God is making us like Him. We are being sanctified into that image. 

28 And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. 29 For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren (Ro 8.28-29). 

We all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord (2Co 3.18). 

And He will certainly take us all the way there; we will one day be glorified into that image.  

As we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly (1Co 15.49). 

[Christ] shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body, according to the working whereby he is able even to subdue all things unto himself (Php 3.21). 

Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is (1J 3.2). 

As surely as the sun came up this morning, God will finish His work in us. He will conform us to the perfect image of His Son. In this life you will never image God as you should; you will never image Him as He deserves to be displayed. But your Savior, the God-Man, has always imaged Him perfectly and completely, and because of His work for you and in you, the day will come—will certainly come—when you image Him in a way that you can’t today.  

And in that day, with a numberless throng of people who don’t look like you, but with whom all of you radiate the image and glory and mercy and grace of God, you will sing His praise: “Worthy is the Lamb that was slain.”  

Take His hand, and follow Him through the trials and the challenges by which He is sanctifying you.  

He promises you that you will love where He’s taking you.  

Image God today. You’ll be better at it tomorrow. And every tomorrow after that.  

Photo by Ilia Zolas on Unsplash

In the Image of God, Part 2: So What? 

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Part 1: What It Means 

We’ve thought about the fact that humans—all of us—are in the image of God, and what that means. We turn now to what difference it makes in how we live on a Monday in February. 

For starters, we’re not animals. We’re not just a fortunate combination of mutations that allows us to survive, even prosper, in the place where we find ourselves. God created us by direct action, and in a way distinct from the way he created all the living organisms that preceded us. We are fundamentally different from amoebas, and slugs, and snakes, and trout, and robins, and even chimpanzees.  

You are not an animal. You are not controlled by your impulses. You don’t have to do everything that occurs to you. You can make choices. You can rise above the evil that screams in your ear. You can be a man. You can be a woman. You do not have to be a victim.  

Yes, you’re a sinner, and there are some things—many things—you can’t do without divine enablement. But you are not a brute beast.  

Further, we’re worth something. Humans—all of us—are valuable. Those of us who are “process people” rather than “people people” need to remember that as we wend our way down crowded hallways or sidewalks. Those bodies around us are not simply obstacles to be navigated around as efficiently as possible; they are eternal beings with stories and histories and loves and struggles and cares. They are worth infinitely more than whatever has us in such a hurry to Get Somewhere. 

And all of them are valuable in that way. People who are not like you. People who look different. People who act differently. People who think differently. People you know, and people you don’t. People who take the name of God in vain. People who are arrogant. People who voted for Trump, and people who voted for Harris, and people who voted for somebody who didn’t have a chance, and people who didn’t vote at all. 

People who have no money. People who have no home. People who live under an overpass. People who smell bad. People who have disabilities. People who are dying of AIDS. Muslim refugees. And Muslim terrorists. People who make you really, really uncomfortable. And yes, people who are still in the womb, and can’t speak for themselves. 

All of them are in the image of God, and all of them are worth infinitely more than all the bank accounts of all the rich people in all the world.  

All humans are valuable. 

One more thing. 

Everything you love about the people you love should move you to praise and worship God, who is the perfect originator of all of it.  

You are surrounded, right now, with thousands of reasons to worship.  

All day, every day, you should be driven to your knees at the glory of this magnificent Creator.  

And you know what? If we were to live that way, the sin that so easily besets us would not seem so appealing. We’d be living for something worth far more than the shiny little trinkets that distract us. We’d start to see victory instead of regular, frustrating defeat.  

Next time, one last thought. 

Photo by Ilia Zolas on Unsplash

In the Image of God, Part 1: What It Means

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In my previous post I mentioned that God’s Spirit is working in us to conform us, eventually perfectly, to the image of the Son. I’d like to follow that up by thinking more deeply about our standing as in the image of God. 

It’s the first thing God tells us about ourselves. After He tells how He made everything else, He describes the last act of the Creation Week:  

26 And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. 27 So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them” (Gen 1.26-27).  

You and I are made in the image of God. What does that mean? And what difference does it make? 

What is the image of God? Interestingly, the Bible never tells us directly what it is. But there are some clues: 

  • It distinguishes the human from the animals, who immediately precede man in the creation narrative.  
  • It characterizes both male and female (Ge 1.27).  
  • It’s something like the way a son resembles his father (Ge 5.1-3).  

 Over the centuries there have been a lot of suggestions. I’ve gone into more details about this in a previous series, but let me summarize the views here: 

  • It’s something we do: Dominion (Ge 1.28) 
  • It’s something we are:   
    • Morality (Ep 4.24) 
    • Relationship (male & female; social health)  
    • Sonship (Lk 3.38; Ge 5.3-5)  
    • It’s something we have:  
    • Creativity (Ge 1.1)  
    • Immortality  

    Or maybe it’s all of the above.  

    You were created to radiate the love and mercy and grace of God.  

     Now, we need to note a critical point: 

    We’re not the way God made us. 

    We’re not the same as the Adam that God created. Something significant has happened to us. Adam chose to sin, and now we’re busted.  

    The image in us has been marred. But it has not been destroyed. 

    After the Flood God told Noah, 

    Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed: for in the image of God made he man (Ge 9.6). 

    Here we’re told that the murder victim, though fallen like everyone else at this time in history, is in the image of God. 

    Further, James writes, 

    Therewith [with the tongue] bless we God, even the Father; and therewith curse we men, which are made after the similitude of God (Jam 3.9).  

     The word similitude here is the word Genesis uses for “likeness.” And it’s spoken of a time when there’s cursing going on—so it’s after the fall. 

    So we sinners are still in the image and likeness of God. 

    Toward the beginning of this post I asked two questions: what does it mean that we’re in the image of God? and what difference does it make? 

    Next time, we’ll get to the second question. 

    Photo by Ilia Zolas on Unsplash

    On Winning the War, Part 3: The Flesh 

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    Part 1: Identifying the Enemy | Part 2: The World 

    The second front in our three-front war, according to the common saying, is “the flesh.” The Bible uses this word in a couple of ways, one positive and the other negative. Sometimes the word refers to the sensitive part of us, the tender part, the living part—similarly to the way we use the expression “it cut to the quick.” Twice through the prophet Ezekiel God says, “I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh” (Ezk 11.19; cf Ezk 36.26). That’s a good thing. 

    But the Bible, particularly in Paul, also speaks of the flesh as the evil that lives within us (Ro 7.18)—what Paul also calls the “old man” (Ro 6.6), and what theologians refer to as the “sinful nature.” And as I’ve noted in an earlier series, John names “the lust of the flesh” as part of what characterizes the lifestyle of “the world.” 

    I noted in that same earlier post that “the flesh” involves more than just sexual lust; it includes any physical desire that is inappropriate: gluttony, for example, or laziness. It’s interesting to me that all of these physical desires were given to us by God: we need food and sleep every day, and we need to reproduce for the survival of the species. They’re good things, all of them—but they make lousy gods, and they can destroy us if uncontrolled. Like fire, a useful servant but a fearful master. 

    So how do we fight the flesh? Particularly since these desires are things that we ought to exercise responsibly? Are we doomed to be like the alcoholic who has one drink a day and hopes—forlornly—that he can control it? 

    Not at all. The key to controlling the flesh, like the key to controlling physical addiction, is health—physical health for the addict, and spiritual health for the worshiper of the flesh. A helpful passage, I think, is Galatians 5.16-26: 

    16 But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh. 17 For the flesh sets its desire against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another, so that you may not do the things that you please. 18 But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the Law. 19 Now the deeds of the flesh are evident, which are: immorality, impurity, sensuality, 20 idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, disputes, dissensions, factions, 21 envying, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these, of which I forewarn you just as I have forewarned you that those who practice such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God. 22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. 24 Now those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. 25 If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit. 26 Let us not become boastful, challenging one another, envying one another. 

    Here’s how that works: 

    • Recognize the fact of victory (Ga 5.16). We do not need to lose this battle; indeed, it has already been won (Ro 7.24-8.1). Many are discouraged that their struggle with the flesh is ongoing; but on the contrary, that struggle is a good sign. It indicates that the Spirit is doing his convicting work and conforming you, bit by bit, to the image of Christ (2Co 3.18). It indicates a tender heart, a “heart of flesh,” rather than a hardened one. 
    • Be led by the Spirit (Ga 5.18). This is simply sanctification, or growth in grace. It’s the result of spiritual exercise through absorbing the Scripture, wrestling in prayer, and actively fellowshipping with other believers. Filling one’s mind with God’s thoughts will help drive out one’s own—or rather, transform them (Ro 12.2) from self-focused to outward- and upward-focused. 

    It’s a long haul, and it requires faithfulness. But victory is certain, in God’s good time. 

    Next time: dealing with the devil. 

    Photo by Henry Hustava on Unsplash

    On Danger, Fear, and God’s Care

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    We all face challenges. Some people face genuine dangers from genuine enemies. And most of them face fear. 

    God doesn’t experience any of these things. He faces nothing that could be described as a challenge to his omnipotence, and though he has powerful enemies, he is greater than them all, and their defeat is sure. And consequently, he is never afraid. 

    So how does someone like that respond to someone like us? Does he understand challenge, and enemies, and fear? Does he care? 

    King David, who had plenty of challenges and enemies and fears, had some thoughts on that in many of his writings. Today I choose to consider Psalm 6. 

    David is facing a fearsome trial. He mentions physical issues (Ps 6.2), but I’m inclined to think his real concern is “enemies” (Ps 6.7). He clearly thinks his life is in danger (Ps. 6.5). 

    And so he meditates and writes out his thoughts. 

    The Psalm has three sections. He begins by presenting his appeal to God (Ps 6.1-5); then he lays out the anguish that his situation is causing (Ps 6.6-7); and then he finishes by describing the assurance he has in God’s care and deliverance (Ps 6.8-10). 

    Appeal (Ps 6.1-5) 

    David begins by admitting—implicitly—that God has reason to be angry with him (Ps 6.1). He doesn’t go into detail. Here we see someone who is in the same situation we are: we need deliverance by God’s hand, but we know we don’t come to him from a position of strength. We need grace; we need mercy (Ps 6.2). 

    David’s situation is desperate; he expresses himself in broken phrases, in grunts (Ps 6.3). Interestingly, Jesus appears to use David’s words as he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane (Jn 12.27) before his arrest, trial, and crucifixion. 

    David asks God to “turn” to him, as if he had turned away for some reason (Ps 6.4). The Hebrew word is shub, a word commonly used for turning from sin in repentance (e.g. Is 30.15; 44.22; 55.7). David asks God to change his mind. 

    He cites two motivations for God to deliver him: God’s “mercies” (Ps 6.4), or hesed, and his glory (Ps 6.5)—that is, the thanksgiving he will receive for acting to deliver. 

    Is that an appeal to some selfish motive in God? I don’t think so. First, God’s glory, unlike ours, is something actually deserved and appropriate; God is not like his limited creatures. And second, is there anything wrong with enjoying being thanked? Don’t we like to be thanked when we do something for someone we love? Is it selfish to revel in someone else’s joy? 

    Anguish (Ps 6.6-7) 

    David lays out the evidences of his anguish, which in turn is evidence of the seriousness of the danger he faces. 

    • He is exhausted by the constant pressure of the situation (Ps 6.6a). 
    • He weeps through the night (Ps 6.6b) 
    • His perspective is colored—poisoned—by the stress of the situation (Ps 6.7). 

    Assurance (Ps 6.8-10)  

    During his prayer, David receives assurance that the Lord has heard him and will answer (Ps 6.8-9). We don’t know exactly how this worked; it may be as simple as his believing God’s earlier promises to hear the prayers of his people (Ex 22.27), or knowing God’s character well enough to anticipate similar future promises (Is 65.24; Zec 13.9). 

    For whatever reason, David knows. And so he begins to address his enemies directly, and he flips the situation against them. At the beginning of his prayer, he is the one who is deeply troubled (Ps 6.2); but now, his enemies find themselves in that situation (Ps 6.10). Earlier, he has asked God to turn, to change (Ps. 6.4); but now, he calls on his enemies to turn and change (Ps 6.10), with the same verb he used of God earlier. 

    So what do we see here? 

    • God’s people call on him when they are afraid. 
    • He hears, even when they don’t “deserve” it. 
    • And he answers by reversing the situation, judging his enemies, and protecting his people. 

    Timely advice whenever we’re afraid. 

    Photo by Alexandra Gorn on Unsplash

    On Labor Day

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    Today is Labor Day. These days it’s pretty much lost its original meaning and serves for our culture as just a day off that signals the end of summer. And so we have the irony of calling a day off “Labor Day.” 

    The kids must wonder about that. 

    Originally, of course, it was a fruit of the labor-union movement in the United States, a celebration of and a recognition of the importance of the work done by “laborers,” or what we’ve come today to call “blue-collar workers.”  

    Much has been written from a Christian perspective on the importance of work, and particularly of all work; work is a sacred calling, a “vocation,” directed by a wise and loving God. Any obedience to that God has value and meaning. Some people are paid more than others for their work, and some kinds of work are seen as more “respectable,” but theologically speaking, all honest work is a virtue and contributes to the overall good of society and the furtherance of God’s plan. 

    I’d like to meditate on the topic from another angle, one of my favorite theological concepts. 

    As I think back over my working life, I realize that is filled with good things, great blessings—but things that I didn’t recognize as good at the time. 

    At first I wanted to be a pilot. But that costs money, so I thought I’d let the government pay for it. Set out for an Air Force ROTC scholarship; I thought I’d get it, because I had good SAT scores. But I flunked the flight physical—bad hearing from a childhood ear injury—and that was the end of that. I remember riding the Greyhound bus home from Otis Air Force Base, wondering at the age of 16 what on earth I was going to do with my life. (I still get wistful in airports.) 

    Well, maybe I can be an aerospace engineer. Applied to UMass Boston and was rejected. Good grades, in-state resident, financial need. No dice. Why? 

    Hmmm. Must have applied too late. Reapplied immediately for the next year and worked in a sandwich shop. 

    Rejected again. UMass just plain didn’t want me. 

    I had applied to BJU to get my Dad off my back, and wouldn’t you know it, they accepted me. Drat. 

    Off to college, where within hours I was confronted by my spiritual need and challenged to get serious about life. Everything changed. 

    Maybe I should be a pastor. Nope. It became clear that I was not gifted or inclined to what that work entailed. 

    OK, maybe I should be a Bible teacher. My senior year I applied to be a Greek GA—had a Greek minor and high grades. Nope. 

    After graduation I returned home to Boston and got a job to save for grad school. Midsummer BJU offered me a GA in English. I took it. 

    So they paid for the terminal degree—that was handy—and I learned a lot about English grammar and writing style. 

    Any chance I could join the Bible faculty? Nope. Those guys are as stable as they come, and since they don’t smoke or drink or drive over the speed limit, they tend to live a long time. 

    But with the English skills, I could get a job as an editor at the Press. Maybe I can work there until a spot opens on the faculty. 

    A decade later I realized that if no such spot ever opened, I’d be content to work there for the rest of my life. I liked my bosses, my coworkers, the customers, the creativity, the business of navigating the industry’s change from analog to digital. 

    A decade after that, I got restless. I could be doing more with the PhD. Maybe I should get a teaching position somewhere else. 

    And then one of my Seminary profs stopped me in the Dining Common and asked if I’d like to teach. 

    That was 25 years ago, and I’ve been deliriously happy ever since. 

    What about that boyhood dream of flying? 

    I realized later that, first, I don’t have the kind of personality that keeps pilots alive for any appreciable length of time, and second, I’d have been entering the job market just as all those high-time pilots were coming back from Viet Nam. 

    God led differently. 

    And, to no surprise, his leading has been good, and fulfilling, and perfect for how he designed me. 

    Just saw a headline in the Wall Street Journal: “America’s Teachers Are Burned Out.” 

    Not this one. 

    Happy Labor Day. 

    Photo by Scott Blake on Unsplash

    On Widows in the Church 

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    In the Bible James notes that taking care of widows and orphans is at the very heart of true religion (Jam 1.27). Later Paul, in a letter to his protégé Timothy, gives details on how the church should see to that duty (1Ti 5.3-16). His words are perhaps unexpectedly lengthy and detailed; he wants this done right. 

    Widows with family, he says, should be cared for by their family (1Ti 5.4, 16). That’s sensible. Further, the widow needs to be at least 60 (1Ti 5.9)—presumably because a younger woman would have a reasonable chance of getting married again (1Ti 5.11)—and have lived in a way that demonstrates the genuineness of her faith (1Ti 5.9-10), something that would obligate the church to see to her care. 

    How does this work in our culture? I’d like to share a story from my experience. 

    In a church where I was on the elder board, one of the elders got a burden for the widows, something he just couldn’t get out of his mind. We put him in charge of putting something together that would bring some discipline to our approach, particularly so that no one would fall through the cracks of our care. 

    Soon we had a list of all the widows in the church. There were 35. I was surprised at how many there were. Then an elder and a deacon interviewed each one: how are you doing? What do you need? How can we help? 

    We were all surprised at what we learned. 

    We expected to find financial need; that was certainly a primary concern in Paul’s day. There may have been a concern or two in our congregation, but for the most part that was not a problem. They told us that their husbands had had life insurance, and they had enough to live on. Some, in fact, were in better shape financially than they had been when their husbands were alive. 

    But that is not to say there were no needs. You know what they told us? 

    “We need purpose. We need to be needed. We need something to do, a reason to get up in the morning. We need to belong.” 

    Wow. 

    Two thoughts struck me immediately. 

    First, we were completely uninformed, misinformed, on the situation in our own church. It was nothing like we thought. 

    And second, how could we have missed such a serious need? 

    We took immediate action. We asked the widows to come up with ideas on how they could organize and serve. That would address both the need to belong and the need to be needed. 

    And their first idea surprised us. They suggested that they clean the houses of new mothers. 

    I’ll confess that I wasn’t too keen on that idea. Widows are often, um, older than the population median, and were they up to it? Physical labor? 

    Well, it turns out that living that long helps give a person good sense, and they were wise enough not to take on tasks that would be too much for them. And their time with the new moms gave them opportunity to share mothering wisdom with the first-timers, and they delighted in the chance to hold the newborns and marvel over their little fingers and toes. 

    It was a win all around. Listening to people, and trusting their good sense and creativity, is a good thing. 

    I suspect that widows’ ministry will look a little different in every church, but we can be sure that we will give account to whether we have attended to that need. 

    Do you know what happened next? 

    That elder? The one with the burden? He died, and his wife became a widow. And she stepped right into a ministry that was ready to help her with grief support, and a need to be needed. Eventually she became the de facto leader of that widows’ ministry, until she remarried some years later. 

    Isn’t providence good? 

    Photo by Free Walking Tour Salzburg on Unsplash

    A Theology of a Morning Walk, Part 2: The Theology 

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    Part 1: The Walk 

    The previous post described a walk on the beach. 

    What was I thinking about during that time? 

    Let me tell you. 

    God’s Power and Faithfulness 

    The first thing you notice while walking on the beach is of course the ocean. It’s active, with the waves crashing a (reasonably) steady drumbeat on the sand. And it extends over the horizon, all the way to someplace far away. As I noted, this thing goes all the way to Perth. It’s unimaginably immense. 

    And God says to it, “Thus far you shall come, but no farther; and here shall your proud waves stop” (Job 38.11). 

    I see the moon, thousands of miles away, shining with the albedo of the reflected sun, even farther away, and Jupiter, farther yet, also reflecting the sun’s light, and a host of stars, exponentially farther. In a dark sky, a few of those “stars” would actually be galaxies, comprising millions of stars themselves. 

    In the understatement of all time, Moses writes, “He made the stars also” (Ge 1.16). 

    And this massive system runs like a clock. Or rather, our clocks attempt to run like it. We mark our years, and months, and days because God has created a system that is faithful, down to the second. So I knew before I started out that high tide was at 8:55 and sunrise at 6:38. Sure enough. 

    God’s faithfulness is also evident in his provision for his creatures: air, and water, and food, and warmth. Life is everywhere, from the microscopic on up, and it thrives because God is faithful. 

    Beauty 

    The wisest man who ever lived said that God “has made everything beautiful in his time” (Ec 3.11). You see that beauty everywhere—in the sunrise, in the cloud formations, in the iridescence of the seashells, in the astonishing variety of size and color in just the scallop shells, in the sea oats holding the dunes together, in the people walking and running and cycling. And that beauty resonates with us humans, because we are made in God’s image; I’m not the only one out at the jetty to watch the sunrise. 

    Human Stewardship 

    God has given us the responsibility—and the privilege—to take the raw elements of creation and develop them effectively and wisely. I see that everywhere on my walk, from the ships on the horizon to the waterfront houses to the rock jetty—it’s not a natural formation—to the little signs asking passersby to please be careful of the turtle nests, and to the dog owners who have trained their best-friend canines not to go potty on the beach. I see it in the parking lot in all those cars that have come all those miles with gas-powered explosions in their engines and not breaking down while it all happens. I see it in the websites I consulted about the tides and the sunrise and the weather. (And thanks to those meteorologists, I knew to get off the island 4 days before Hurricane Debby showed up and flooded the place.) 

    Brokenness 

    Speaking of young Debby, my walk reminded me that my pleasant and enjoyable experience wasn’t actually in the world that the powerful and faithful God had created—or rather, that this world, which he did indeed create, is not the same as it was when he rested on the seventh day. It’s broken. 

    I see evidences of natural death all around me: those horseshoe crab carapaces, and the little tiny holes in pretty much every bivalve shell, where a predator has overcome the poor creature’s defense system and made a meal of him. I’m not a fan of Jack London or of Darwin, but when the former describes nature—what the latter suggested operates for “the survival of the fittest”—as “red in tooth and claw,” he’s right. 

    And those Marine recruits over on Parris Island are engaging in wise preparation because humans are broken, and they do bad things, sometimes on a global scale. 

    But outshining all the evil is the greatness and goodness of God. 

    That was a great walk. 

    Photo by Hari Perisetla on Unsplash

    A Theology of a Morning Walk, Part 1: The Walk 

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    While vacationing on Hilton Head Island recently, I got up early one morning to do one of my favorite things. Up at 5, I headed out to the beach to walk a couple of miles to a favorite location for watching the sunrise. 

    Leaving my beach shoes at the end of the boardwalk, I turn left to head northeast along the beach. On my right, still invisible in the early morning darkness, lies the Atlantic Ocean, but I can hear it “flushing and flushing,” as one child once said. Out on the horizon I can see the lights of 5 different ships, and to my left, a few lights in resort hotels and multimillion-dollar houses fronting the ocean. (I wonder what they pay for flood insurance?) 

    Most people standing on a beach in the eastern US assume that straight in front of them is Europe, or maybe North Africa. Actually, from here it’s the eastern tip of Brazil, and the next landfall, believe it or not, is in Western Australia. 

    I know the tide is still coming in—high tide is 5:55 am—so I keep to my left to give the water room to crawl up the beach, but down the beach enough to have packed sand, which I find easier to walk on. 

    Above and slightly ahead of me, just on my right, I can see the moon, in waning crescent phase, with Capella at its ten o’clock and Jupiter at its two. There’s a long ridge of clouds to the northeast, at first reaching high enough to blur the moon, but within a few minutes the height of the ridge begins to recede. 

    In those dark hours you’re typically alone on the beach, and the waves provide the only sound. But when I’m a mile or so down the beach, there’s a slight lightening of the sky in the southeast, and I begin to hear the calls of the sea birds, up and looking for breakfast. They soar, seemingly effortlessly, occasionally rising a few feet and then turning to dive straight down into the chop, aiming for a fish. Sometimes they get it; sometimes they don’t. 

    I begin to see the rock jetty, dimly at first, but as I get closer, and the light increases, it comes plainly into view. And out come the other beach walkers, some for the exercise, others combing for seashells, yet others riding bicycles with fat, relatively low-pressure tires to maneuver well on the sand. 

    When I arrive at the jetty, the cloud ridge is still obscuring the horizon, so I won’t be able to see the sun break the horizon and then rise to full glory. But I know exactly when it happens—6:38 am—because observers of the sky tell us these things. 

    Sometimes I see Christians reading their Bibles out on the jetty, and others—perhaps New Agers, perhaps not—facing the rising sun with various poses, welcoming the new day. There’s none of that this morning; just walkers—some with coffee cup in hand—and bicyclists. 

    I move beyond the jetty, following the shoreline to the left as it begins to turn the north end of the island. There are often horseshoe crabs here, and while I don’t see any live ones, I do come across four carapaces, one of them disarticulated. I also come across a good-sized sand crab, also disarticulated; I assume he made a tasty meal for some predator. 

    Then further around the north end, to where I can see the low-lying Parris Island, where I assume the latest class of Marine recruits is having a far more strenuous morning than I am. I appreciate their willingness to do hard things for honorable purposes. And I find that I feel no irony in being thankful that their rigors are not those of this old, growingly creaky guy. God bless them. 

    With that, it’s time to turn around. I like to time the turning point at sunrise, so I’m not squinting into the sun on the way back. 

    After 7 am, the beach is getting busy. I see the beach patrol cart moving along the high beach as the staff check on the turtle nests; at one point they stop and deliver an impromptu teaching session to interested passersby. Several folks are fishing—I watch one young man pull in a 9-inch something-or-other as I’m walking by—and others are setting up tents and coolers and wagons full of folding chairs and beach toys in preparation for a full day on the beach, as the lifeguards are setting up chairs and umbrellas for the paying guests. Others are bringing their canine friends out for an early morning run, some tossing balls into the water for them to fetch. Dogs and beaches have a special relationship. 

    Back at the boardwalk at 8; time to rinse off the sand and walk across the parking lot to the condo, passing cars from pretty much every state in the Southeast, as well as Ohio, Pennsylvania, Iowa, Texas, Kansas, and even Montana. And Ontario. 

    Now, what about the theology? 

    Next time. 

    Photo by Hari Perisetla on Unsplash

    On Discipline, Part 5: Mentors 

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    Part 1: Perspective | Part 2: Action | Part 3: Dependence | Part 4: Thought 

    One more item in Paul’s list of areas we should give attention to and discipline: 

    Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you (Php 4.9). 

    He encourages the believers in Philippi—a church that he planted—to imitate his example, to follow his practices. These days we call such a person a mentor, and those who imitate him proteges. 

    Some people might find this surprising. Isn’t this arrogant of Paul—especially since Christ is the only perfect example? 

    Good point. And as it happens, Paul says that himself elsewhere: 

    Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ (1Co 11.1). 

    He’s clearly not placing his value as an example above that of Christ. 

    I’ll note that Paul’s exhortation here indicates that he has been careful to set the kind of example that the Philippians should follow. He’s been helped in that, certainly by the fact that he’s an apostle, guided by the Spirit into all truth (Jn 16.13).  

    Slight sidetrack: Many interpreters would apply Jn 16.13 to all believers. I don’t, because I know that I’m not guided into all truth, and as I tell my students, I have written documentation in a file cabinet in my office that they are not guided into all truth either. I think this is a promise to the apostles that they would be inerrant in their reporting of Jesus’ life and teachings—their proclamation of the gospel. This of course would come to us through the New Testament. But since only three men in the room in John 16 wrote any New Testament, I’m also inclined to believe that the rest of the apostles, though not sinless (Ga 2.11), were inerrant in their preaching—which makes Luke’s description of the Bereans all the more remarkable (Ac 17.11; but cf 1Th 2.13). 

    But to return. 

    Paul here encourages the Philippians to imitate his example. 

    Might this exhortation have broader significance? Should we, two millennia after Paul’s death, imitate him too? It occurs to me that we’ll have a harder time doing so, since we can’t see Paul’s example in his day-to-day life, as the Philippians did. But there are certainly a good many things we can know about him, and those things we can imitate. 

    But to go a step further. Can we take Paul’s words as a general endorsement of the concept of mentorship? There are a good many Christian books on discipleship that do just that, and I don’t see a reason to disagree with them. Paul’s teaching on spiritual gifts seems to imply strongly that all believers should sit under gifted teachers and should live exemplary lives before their church assemblies. 

    So, I would suggest, we can all benefit from following the examples of exemplary believers. (The apparent redundancy there is intentional and is not actually redundant.) And Paul’s words here in verse 9 indicate that we should be careful whom we choose. 

    I suppose it could go without saying that we should choose as models those who follow Christ well, consistently, carefully, graciously. We should choose them not because they’re popular, or good-looking, or socially adept. We should recognize something of the character of Christ in them and then seek to integrate that character trait into our own thinking and lifestyle. We should ask them questions, and we should listen to the answers. 

    I suppose it’s worthwhile to insert a caution here. 

    You and I are not called to be anybody else. God has made us all different, and he has gifted us to serve in ways that are the sum of our DNA, our upbringing, our experiences, our sanctification, and yes, our gifting. I’ve known Christians who want desperately to be just like somebody they admire, and those efforts always end in disappointment. We’re called to be ourselves, remade in the image of Christ. 

    But we ought to follow examples, carefully chosen, in our lifelong journey to be like Christ. 

    Photo by Dave Lowe on Unsplash