systematic theology

When You’re Tempted to Hate People, Part 4: Grace

September 26, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Description | Part 3: Compassion

In his foundational self-description, the first thing God tells us about himself is that he’s compassionate. By nature, he feels deeply for the hurts and trials of his creatures—even the animals (Jon 4.11), but most especially those in his image.

He cares.

The second thing he tells us is that he’s “gracious” (Ex 34.6). We tell one another that he is, too; one of our most common names, John (and Jean or Joan or Johanna for women), comes from the Hebrew Johanan, short for Jehohanan, which means simply “Yahweh / Jehovah is gracious.” It’s same word used in all those OT refrains.

This isn’t the first time God has told us this about himself. The word occurs earlier in the Law, in Exodus 22.27, where God tells Moses that if a man’s clothing is illegitimately taken from him, and the man cries to God for help, “I will hear; for I am gracious.” The word occurs 12 more times in the Old Testament, and in every occurrence it’s describing the character of God. No other being is said to have this specific quality.

So what is it? What does the word mean?

In Exodus 22.27 it sounds a lot like compassion; a poor man is in desperate need, and God hears his cry. But I think it’s a step beyond compassion. Compassion is feeling strongly about a situation; it’s caring. Grace, on the other hand, is getting up and doing something about it. It’s intervening on behalf of those in need.

And since we’re all in need, being gracious is a commitment to actions of infinite scope and complexity. It’s a really big deal.

But there’s more. Since we’re all sinners, rebels against God, we really don’t deserve his intervention on our behalf. After all, we’ve declared ourselves to be his enemies.

And that means, in turn, that God gives us things, and does things for us, that we don’t deserve.

Now that’s grace.

I’ve posted before on the immensity and breadth and depth of God’s grace. These things ought to be at the forefront of our thinking; and I’ve noticed that people who reflexively think that way—gratefully—tend to approach the exigencies of life with considerably more confidence and even joy. The truth will do that for a person.

I suspect that some of you are thinking about my observation that in the Scripture only God is said to be gracious. Maybe that means we aren’t expected to be? Maybe we don’t have to give people things they don’t deserve?

Not so fast. For starters, we’re in the image of God (Gen 1.27), and we’re undergoing a process—sanctification—that’s designed to refine that image in us as we become more like Christ, through the power of the Holy Spirit (2Co 3.18). So if God is fundamentally gracious, then we ought to seek to be as well.

Further, the Scripture gives us things to do that are gracious at the root. Jesus told us that the second great commandment is to love our neighbors as ourselves (Mt 22.39)—and Jesus surely knows that our neighbors aren’t deserving of that. And he told us to love our enemies, even those who abuse and mistreat us. Walking the second mile, giving our coat, and all that (Mt 5.38-48).

We’re supposed to give people around us—our neighbors—what they don’t deserve. That’s what grace is all about.

I’ve grown up in political conservatism—my parents were both employees, for a time, of the John Birch Society—and I’ve noticed that in conservatism there is a certain amount of social Darwinism. Individual responsibility. Your own bootstraps. Get a job, ya lazy bum.

And there’s a lot of truth to that. He who doesn’t work shouldn’t eat. The Bible says that (2Th 3.10). Personal responsibility is a thing.

But there’s also grace. We’re called to help people who don’t deserve or even want help. We’re called to lessen people’s pain, even when they brought it on themselves. We’re called to help the unloving, the hostile, the rebellious—the sponge, the lawbreaker, the entitled.

God has done that for us.

So what about those bums on the other side of the political divide?

Extend a hand. Recognize the image of God in them. Refuse to hate. Give them what they don’t have coming.

Grace.

Photo by Uriel Soberanes on Unsplash

When You’re Tempted to Hate People, Part 3: Compassion

September 23, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Description

In his primary description of himself, God includes a list of related attributes (Ex 34.6-7):

Compassionate
Gracious
Slow to anger
Abounding in lovingkindness
Abounding in truth
Keeping lovingkindness for thousands
Forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin
Not leaving the guilty unpunished
Visiting the iniquity of fathers upon children

And in the parallel prophetic passages,

Relenting of calamity

For easy comparison, I’ve posted a chart of the parallel passages here.

There’s a lot here that calls for investigation, rumination, and careful analysis. God describes himself in ways that emphasize tenderness without the weakness of permissiveness. We’ll take a few posts to cover this list, occasionally combining similar terms for efficiency and clarity.

We begin, as God does, with compassion.

The Hebrew word is closely related to the word for “womb”; it speaks of the intense feeling we get in our midsection when we’re deeply affected emotionally. We speak informally of being “punched in the gut” or “kicked in the stomach” when we received intensely emotional news.

Interestingly, the Gospels speak of Jesus as often feeling this way, of being “moved with compassion.”

When he saw the people “as sheep having no shepherd” (Mt 9.36; Mk 6.34)
When he saw a large crowd near the Sea of Galilee—whom he was about to feed miraculously (Mt 14.14; Mk 8.2)
Similarly just before he later fed the 4000 (Mt 15.32)
When he healed Bartimaeus and the other blind man just outside Jericho (Mt 20.34)
When he saw the widow of Nain in her son’s funeral procession (Lk 7.13)

Paul, recognizing this characteristic of his Lord, speaks of longing for the Philippians “in the bowels of Jesus Christ” (Php 1.8 KJV).

God, knowing of people’s desperate needs, is moved with compassion for them. It’s part of his character; it simply can’t not happen. I’m tempted to say that he can’t help himself, but that language, taken literally, would imply some limitation on divine self-control—which of course is omnipotent and perfect. So let me say that just as the Bible says that God cannot lie (Ti 1.2)—because, as self-consistent, he cannot and will not violate his own nature—even so he cannot be uncompassionate.

And this characteristic of his takes us to unexpected places. The examples of Jesus’ compassion that I’ve listed above all involve people in great sorrow and need, and we can easily understand that. We like to think that in similar circumstances we too would do what we could to help. I write this post just after buying a tank of gas for a stranger with a sad story so he could get home.

[Sidebar: Sure, maybe he was lying. In these situations I don’t give cash; I offer to go with them to the gas station, or the restaurant, or the grocery store, or whatever, and buy them what they say they need. The shysters typically refuse and say they need the cash (for drugs, usually). This guy went with me and let me gas up his truck. So it looked legit to me.]

But keep in mind that Jesus knew what was in people’s hearts (Jn 2.25). He knew that the widow of Nain was a sinner. He knew that a lot of those 5000 and 4000 people were just following him to see him do tricks—and after he fed them, for the food (Jn 6.26). As he wept over Jerusalem, he knew that its inhabitants “killed the prophets, and stoned them who are sent to you!” (Mt 23.37; Lk 13.34).

And so it shouldn’t be surprising to us when we find God going to considerable trouble to compel a recalcitrant prophet to go on a journey of 500 miles to tell people he hated that God was going to judge them—not because he was going to judge them (though he eventually would, as Nahum records)—but because he knew that the prophet’s angry message would scare the dickens out of them and would result in their genuine repentance.

This compassionate God comes to Jonah, sulking on the hillside after the Ninevites’ repentance and consequent deliverance, and rebukes him from his own heart: “Should I not have compassion on Nineveh, the great city in which there are more than 120,000 persons who do not know the difference between their right and left hand [i.e. babies], as well as many animals?” (Jon 4.11).

This is how you treat people you hate.

Indeed, this is how you feel about them.

Photo by Uriel Soberanes on Unsplash

When You’re Tempted to Hate People, Part 2: How God Describes Himself

September 19, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction

As we’ve noted, even Jonah the bigot knew that God had revealed himself as a God of compassion, who extends mercy even to the most wicked, upon their repentance—and who seeks that repentance from them.

When and where did God reveal this?

It begins with Moses.

He had spent more than a month atop Mt. Sinai, in the very presence of Israel’s God (Ex 24.12-18), receiving the stone tablets containing the commandments God had spoken earlier to the people (Ex 20-23; 31.18). At the end of that remarkable experience, God tells him that the people have corrupted themselves by worshiping a golden bull that they believe represents God himself (Ex 32.7-8), and that God intends to wipe them out and start the nation over with Moses (Ex 32.9-10). Moses argues successfully against that policy by countering that God has promised to build the nation on Abraham (Ex 32.11-14). But when he returns to the foot of the mountain (Ex 32.15) and finds the nation in debauchery, he breaks the stone tablets (Ex 32.19), destroys the bull (Ex 32.20), and brings judgment into the camp (Ex 32.25-28).

As the nation prepares to leave Sinai and travel toward the Promised Land (Ex 33), God prepares Moses to receive a second set of tablets to replace the ones Moses has destroyed (Ex 34.1-4). And there, atop the mountain again, Yahweh reveals himself to Moses with characteristics, attributes, that he has not significantly revealed before. He describes himself as

Yahweh, Yahweh God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in lovingkindness and truth; ⁷who keeps lovingkindness for thousands, who forgives iniquity, transgression and sin; yet He will by no means leave the guilty unpunished, visiting the iniquity of fathers on the children and on the grandchildren to the third and fourth generations (Ex 34.6-7).

This is quite a list. As I said, it’s new revelation; there’s almost nothing said about these things before this point in Scripture. (I’ll specify the “almost” in later posts.) And it becomes a refrain throughout the rest of God’s revelation of himself; it’s clear that he takes it seriously and views the list as a centrally significant part of his relationship with his people. Further, it’s clear that his people recognize that significance, for they bring it up again and again:

When Israel reacts in fear to the inhabitants of the Promised Land (Num 13.32-33), disbelieving God’s sure promise to Abraham and to Isaac and to all Isaac’s descendants since, wishing that they had never left Egypt (Num 14.1-4)—saying that bondslavery to the Egyptians was better than serving God!—Moses again intercedes for them (Num 14.11-16) by quoting God’s self-description back to him (Num 14.17-19), thereby rescuing them once again from obliteration (Num 14.20).
David the psalmist rejoices in this self-description of God, 500 years after it was originally spoken, by reciting it and then expanding on it in lyrical meditation (Ps 103.8-14)—more than once (Ps 86.15; 145.8).
More than 500 years after David, the chorus rises again, this time from the Jews who have returned from captivity in Babylon. Under Nehemiah’s leadership, they cleanse themselves and the Levitical priesthood, issuing forth in a psalm of praise to God (Neh 9.5-38) that includes the ancient self-description (Neh 9.17)—again, more than once (Neh 9.31-32).
The prophets too pick up the refrain; between David and Nehemiah, Joel weaves the refrain into his call for Judah’s repentance (Joel 2.13); and as we’ve noted, in far-off Nineveh Jonah recalls the verse, in frustration and anger over God’s willingness to accept the repentance of the deservedly hated Assyrians (Jon 4.2).

So this is a big deal. God takes it seriously, and so do his people, even when, as in the case of Jonah, they wish it weren’t so.

We might say that this is the core biblical view of the person of God. This is the most direct statement of who he is. It is his essence, his character, his personality.

Well, then. If our whole purpose is to know God—which is a necessary prerequisite to the Greatest Commandment, to love him (Mt 22.35-40)—then we’d better understand it.

That’s worth a few posts, don’t you think?

Photo by Uriel Soberanes on Unsplash

When You’re Tempted to Hate People, Part 1: Introduction

September 16, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

We’re polarized.

Yep.

And each side sees the other as the Ultimate Personification of Evil.

They’re bad people, you see. They want to destroy us and all that we hold dear.

No tactic is out of bounds in our desire to destroy them.

It’s war.

Bring it.

There were situations like this in biblical times: existential crises, where God’s people, and all they held dear—or should have held dear—was under assault by those who hated what they stood for, because they hated the God who had chosen them for himself.

The prophets called down God’s judgment on the nation’s enemies, and they didn’t mince words. The list of targets is long. It begins with Israel’s neighbors: Moab (Is 15-16; Jer 48); Edom (Jer 49.7ff; Ezk 25.12-14); Ammon (Jer 49.1-6; Ezk 25); Damascus / Syria (Is 17.1-3; Jer 49.23-27; Amos 1.3-5); Tyre (Is 23). And then it extends to more distant kingdoms that are even more of a threat because of their hegemonous power and reach: Egypt (Is 19; Ezk 29-30); Babylon (Is 13-14, 46; Jer 50-51); and Nineveh / Assyria (Nahum).

Especially Assyria. They’re the worst.

No one in the ancient world, or perhaps since, has exceeded the Assyrians in their gleeful cruelty to their defeated enemies. In Iraq today is the site
of Calah, the capital city chosen by the Assyrian ruler Ashernasirpal II, who reigned in the early 9^th century BC. There in the Temple of Ninurta is inscribed Ashernasirpal’s own official account of his victories:

I stormed the mountain peaks and took them. In the midst of the mighty mountain I slaughtered them; with their blood I dyed the mountain red like wool. … The heads of their warriors I cut off, and I formed them into a pillar over against their city; their young men and their maidens I burned in the fire.

I built a pillar over against the city gate and I flayed all the chiefs who had revolted and I covered the pillar with their skins. Some I impaled upon the pillar on stakes and others I bound to stakes round the pillar. I cut the limbs off the officers who had rebelled. Many captives I burned with fire and many I took as living captives. From some I cut off their noses, their ears, and their fingers, of many I put out their eyes. I made one pillar of the living and another of heads and I bound their heads to tree trunks round about the city. Their young men and maidens I consumed with fire. The rest of their warriors I consumed with thirst in the desert of the Euphrates.

Hulai, their governor, I flayed, and his skin I spread upon the wall of the city.

Scholar Jack Finegan observes that “the quotations just given are typical of many more which can be read in the annals of this king.”

Now those are some seriously evil people. Existentially so.

Why am I telling you all this? What’s the point?

It’s this. It was to this people, this nation, that God sent a prophet to declare judgment.

Well, that makes sense, doesn’t it?

You know the story well. The prophet’s name is Jonah, and after considerable initial reluctance, Jonah finally arrives at Nineveh, the current capital city, and gleefully preaches the announcement of oncoming doom.

And then, in his view, everything goes seriously awry.

Nineveh repents (Jon 3.5). From the king on down (Jon 3.6-8).

Well, this wasn’t the plan. Not in Jonah’s mind, anyway. There’s nothing in Jonah’s message (Jon 3.4), or in God’s instructions to him (Jon 1.1-2; 3.1-2), that offered any hope of repentance. Jonah could easily have argued that repentance was impossible and in any event would not have been accepted.

But the Assyrian king hoped for better things. “Perhaps,” he said, “God may turn and relent and withdraw His burning anger so that we will not perish” (Jon 3.9).

And you know what?

Jonah knew that too. “I knew,” he said to God, in frustration and anger, “that You are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abundant in lovingkindness, and one who relents concerning calamity” (Jon 4.2).

And Jonah was not one bit happy. He hated these people. And he had perfectly good reasons to.

Where did Jonah get the idea that God was gracious and compassionate, even to hated people?

God had told his people that. Repeatedly.

Next time we’ll look at what he had told them, and under what circumstances. And then we’ll spend a few posts learning what it all means, for us, and for all those people we hate.

Photo by Uriel Soberanes on Unsplash

Living in the Brightest Light, Part 4: Occupy Till He Comes

August 15, 2019 by Dan Olinger 2 Comments

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Thus far in our brief look into 2 Thessalonians, we’ve noted that when Christ returns, God’s going to right all the wrongs, and that he’s going to bring history to an end in his own good time, according to his plan and timetable.

So what to we do in the meantime? In the last post we saw a very brief statement of that, in 2Thess 2.15—we need to continue holding on to what we’ve been taught.

But there’s more to it than that—and Paul has more to say in the next (and final) chapter. He speaks of a couple of general activities first—

We need to have a prayer life. We need to pray specifically for one another. Paul asks for prayer for himself (2Th 3.1-2), and he confidently (2Th3.3-4) prays for them (2Th 3.5).
We need to have a consistent pattern of following Christ. That’s what he prays for them (2Th 3.5), and that’s what he’s so confident about (2Th 3.4).

Those two general activities can keep us plenty busy until he comes. But he gets more specific in the next paragraph.

We all know that Paul’s epistles are “occasional”—that is, they’re written to address specific situations or occasions. In this case, Paul has learned that there are people in the church who aren’t working to support their families. Some interpreters speculate that they’ve quit working because they think Jesus is coming back very soon and they want to be ready—but the passage doesn’t actually say that.

At any rate, they’re sponging off the church’s kindness. And these days we have a term for what the kind church is doing. We call it “enabling.” Sometimes love has to be tough; you can’t smooth the path for someone headed in the wrong direction.

And that’s what Paul calls for here. We’ve told you, he says, that if someone is unwilling to work, he shouldn’t eat (2Th 3.10).

Obviously Paul’s isn’t calling for hard-hearted starvation of the elderly and enfeebled. These were people who could work but were refusing to. And here Paul calls for tough love. He even notes that he had set an example of that when he was with them (2Th 3.7-9).

How should the church deal with the situation?

Don’t give the lazy guy food (2Th 3.10).
Don’t let him wear you down. Don’t cave. You’re doing a good thing (2Th 3.13).
Don’t associate with him (2Th 3.14). Let him feel the sting of social penalty for unacceptable behavior.
But don’t cast him aside (2Th 3.15). He’s your brother. Guide him toward the joy of repentance. That’s the whole point.
Don’t lose your peace (2Th 3.16).

Wise words for all of us these centuries later, in a virtually identical culture. We’re living in the brightest light, the light of Christ’s return. Anticipating that, we get impatient with the brokenness all around us—and within us—and we’re tempted to just find a quiet corner and hunker down waiting for the cavalry.

But God hasn’t called us to do that. He’s called us to live in a broken world, to deal with its brokenness every day, sometimes by doing hard things, things we’d rather not do. He’s called us to persist in those difficult things, and even more, to do them with grace, continuing to spread The Story even as we feel the frustration that long waiting brings.

People who live through that kind of frustration, and who do so with peace, are testimonies to the truth of what they’re persistently believing. Only God could bring peace to a person in that situation. Something supernatural going on here.

And maybe people will want to look into that.

Live on, my friend.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Living in the Brightest Light, Part 3: In God’s Good Time

August 12, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1 Part 2

As we’ve noted, when Christ returns, God’s going to right all the wrongs, correct all the injustices. That takes care of a lot of anger and frustration for us.

But we need to be careful how we anticipate. When Paul wrote this letter, the readers had apparently received a letter claiming to be from Paul, giving the impression that Christ had already returned, and they’d missed it (2Th 2.2). Paul went to the trouble of signing this current letter himself, so they’d have his signature to compare to any future letters (2Th 3.17).

What does Paul tell them here? He says the Lord won’t return until several things have happened:

a falling away, or “apostasy” (2Th 2.3)
the revealing of a “man of lawlessness” (2Th 2.3)
the removal of a “restrainer” (2Th 2.6-7)

There a lot of stuff to argue about here. :-) As I’ve noted before, prophecy is hard, and we should expect to have our disagreements over the details without viewing one another as spiritually blind or weak on the authority of Scripture. Paul notes that he’s explained all this to the Thessalonians in person (2Th 2.5-6), so he doesn’t need to say any more. Many of us wish he had, but this is where God has left us for now.

Over the centuries people have tried to identify the “man of lawlessness,” which many assume to be the same as the one that John in his epistles calls “the antichrist.” The Reformers thought it was the pope; during World War II both Hitler and Mussolini were suggested; then Henry Kissinger; and even Ronald Reagan (6 letters in each of his three names, you know—666).

And who or what is the “restrainer”? Rome? the Catholic Church? Christians? the Spirit, who indwells Christians?

Nobody knows. Well, nobody but God, for now. And Paul, and apparently his readers, now long dead (2Th 2.6).

But there’s one interpretation of this passage I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t make.

Some people read 2Th 2.8-12 to say that if someone heard the gospel before the Rapture, then afterwards he won’t be able to believe and be saved. God will send him delusion (2Th 2.11).

I don’t think this passage says that. It says that God sends delusion to “those who are perishing” (2Th 2.10). Let’s not read anything more into it than Paul put there. If it’s the Tribulation period, and you want to come to Jesus, you come. He’ll welcome you. That’s what he does (Mt 11.28-30; Jn 6.37).

Paul’s word for his readers is the very opposite of off-putting. He thanks God for choosing his readers for salvation (2Th 2.13). He has every confidence.

And what should we do with that confidence? How do we occupy ourselves as we live in this brightest light?

Stand firm. Hold on resolutely to what the apostles have taught (2Th 2.15).

We don’t focus our efforts on when Christ is coming, or the details of how Christ’s return is all going to work out in the end. We don’t descend into wrestling matches about the details.

What do we do instead?

We live on.

We believe what God has told us, and we live out his plan for each of us individually, day to day.

Loving God (Mt 22.37).

Loving our neighbors (Mt 22.39). All of them.

Being ambassadors for Christ (2Co 5.20).

Taking the story of Jesus and his love to all who haven’t heard, starting right here in our town and extending to the very ends of the earth (Ac 1.8).

And how do you think that’ll turn out?

God’s going to give us the strength to be faithful till he comes (2Th 2.16-17).

And when the time’s right, he’s going to come.

Right on schedule.

Just as he has always planned.

Live on, my friend, this day, and however many more days he’s scheduled for you.

Part 4

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Living in the Brightest Light, Part 2: Justice Wins

August 8, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1

As we live in the light of Christ’s return, in his brief second letter to the Thessalonian church Paul emphasizes three ideas that drive our thinking, attitudes, and choices. The first he gets to right away: when Christ returns, no injustice will be left uncorrected (2Th 1).

Paul begins all his letters with a standard 4-part introduction. First, he names himself (and sometimes others, e.g. 1Co 1.1) as the author(s). Here, Silas and Timothy are with him (2Th 1.1a). Second, he names the recipients (2Th 1.1b). Third, he offers a benediction (2Th 1.2). If you’ll compare his epistles, you’ll find that this third section is the most consistent from letter to letter. And fourth, in most cases he offers a prayer of thanksgiving for something about them.

These prayers are instructive. There isn’t one in Galatians; Paul is taking those folks straight to the woodshed (Gal 1.6ff). But with other churches he always finds something to be thankful for; even in Corinth, where they’re taking each other to court (1Co 6.1) and getting drunk at the Lord’s Supper (1Co 11.20-21), Paul manages to thank God that they have a lot of spiritual gifts (1Co 1.4-8)—even if they’re abusing them (1Co 12-14).

Here in Thessalonica, Paul rejoices that his readers are continuing to grow in Christ, even though they’re being persecuted. The persecution had started right at the very beginning of the church (Ac 17.5-10) and had continued after Paul left (1Th 2.14-16; 3.4). Paul doesn’t speak of this as though it’s a sign that something has gone terribly wrong; he mentions it matter-of-factly, no doubt because he knew of Jesus’ teaching that persecution would surely come to his followers (Jn 16.33).

So how should they respond to the persecution? I find it interesting that there are no calls to imprecatory prayer, no combat techniques, no legal advice. Paul sets forth just two Big Ideas.

Christ’s Coming Is Going to Right All the Wrongs

First, we don’t need to wrestle with our opponents. Those who oppose God’s people are dealing with an Opponent they can never defeat, who will most certainly call them to account for their evil choices, and who will carry out justice for all the injustices done (2Th 1.6-9).

Not our job. God’s better at it anyway.

And Paul points out that in that day, we will have “relief” (2Th 1.7)—but even beyond that, we will “glorify” and “marvel at” him (2Th 1.10). You know what it’s like when your team wins. The place just explodes, and everyone’s screaming and shouting and hugging and pumping their fists in the air. The fireworks go off, and eventually the party moves out into the street and around the block, and everyone’s just beside himself with sheer delight.

It’s going to be all right. Exponentially better than all right.

Some people scoff this off as “pie in the sky.” Bourgeoisie trying to keep the oppressed happy under their thumb. Trying to crush the proletariat.

And there’s no question that that sort of thing has gone on. But to suggest that here is a category error. It is to suggest that persecution is abuse by a hostile master rather than training by a supportive coach. And it assumes, without evidence, its most fundamental premise—that both “the pie” and “the sky” are fiction.

We have every reason to believe the opposite.

We Have More Important Things to Attend To

Since God’s going to take care of the unpleasant business, we can devote our time to more important things. Paul writes,

We pray for you always, that our God will count you worthy of your calling, and fulfill every desire for goodness and the work of faith with power, ¹²so that the name of our Lord Jesus will be glorified in you, and you in Him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ (2Th 1.11-12).

We have a calling, you see—one that our heavenly Coach—and I say that reverently—is exercising us toward through the very persecution itself. This calling involves several elements—

Goodness
Faithful (persistent, enduring) work—with power
Glorifying God—and being glorified by him

Wow. That’s a lot more fun than plotting the demise of my theological opponents.

I think I’ll work on that instead.

Part 3 Part 4

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Living in the Brightest Light, Part 1: Introduction

August 5, 2019 by Dan Olinger 3 Comments

Christmas. Summer vacation. Birthday.

Marriage. Childbirth.

We love to anticipate things. Can’t wait. It’s gonna be awesome.

And the anticipation is half the fun, isn’t it?

When my wife and I were first married, one of the things I had to learn was that whereas I’m impulsive and like to do things on the spur of the moment, she enjoys the anticipation phase more. Rather than coming home from work and suggesting that we go out for supper tonight, I needed to learn to make the suggestion in the morning so she’d enjoy having time to think about it.

That’s a pretty simple adjustment, and an enjoyable one at that.

As a biblicist, I’m always asking myself, “What’s the biblical perspective on, or approach to, this or that topic?” So what’s the biblical perspective on anticipation?

Does God anticipate things?

Well, he certainly talks a lot about the future, and he seems to enjoy the prospect of what’s coming. Isaiah 11 comes to mind.

Theologians say that God lives beyond time—but then, no one really knows what that means. He certainly knows about time and understands it perfectly—having created it—and he speaks as though he’s thinking in terms of time, though he knows the end from the beginning (Isa 46.10).

Jesus endured the cross “for the joy that was set before him” (Heb 12.2). That sounds like anticipation to me.

Should we anticipate things?

If God’s doing all that anticipating in the Bible, he clearly intends that it should be part of our thinking as well. We ought to look forward to stuff. Excitedly, eagerly, expectantly.

What stuff?

What should we look forward to? Is there any biblical guidance on that?

I’m not asking what our purpose or goal for life is, though that’s an important question too—in fact, I think it includes our question, though it’s broader and more basic than it. The Bible gives us guidance on the larger question of purpose, reason for living:

Clearly the Prime Directive is, as the scholars say, “doxological”—we exist for the purpose of giving glory to God, both in this life (1Co 10.31) and the next (Rev 7.9-12). Even eating and drinking are things we should do for his glory.
- Sidebar: How do you eat and drink to the glory of God? You recognize food and drink as gifts from a generous God, creatively designed for our pleasure (color, texture, flavor, etc.) and given to us freely and abundantly. You delight in his supply and his artistry even as you delight in the food. Eating, properly done, should be an act of worship. But we’re not worshiping the food—that’s gluttony, a form of idolatry. We worship the Creator, not what he has created (Rom 1.25).
Along the way we consider other things. As just one example, Jesus said that he came to give us “abundant” life (Jn 10.10). We exist to live abundantly: joyously, committedly, living out all the fruit of the Spirit (Gal 5.22-23) with delight.

Now, as part of that purposeful life, what do we anticipate? What do we look forward to?

The Bible speaks to that as well.

We look forward to the return of Christ; we are “those who look for him” (Heb 9.28); “from [heaven] we look for the Saviour” (Php 3.20); we look “for that blessed hope, even the glorious appearing of our great God and Saviour Jesus Christ” (Ti 2.13). We’ve been doing that from the moment he left (Ac 1.11). It’s the greatest of our anticipations.

So how do we live in light of that certain coming event? How do we live in light of it—the brightest light?

There’s a little book in the Bible that focuses on that question. It’s in the New Testament, a letter by Paul. We call it 2 Thessalonians—because it’s one of two letters he wrote to a church in Thessalonica (today’s Thessaloniki, or Saloniki), and because it’s the shorter. (Really; they put it after 1 Thessalonians primarily because it was shorter—though most commentators also believe it was written second.)

The book’s 3 chapters address 3 ideas:

Christ’s coming is going to right all the wrongs.
Christ’s coming will happen on God’s timetable.
We should be living as God’s stewards in the meantime.

There’s a lot to talk about here.

We’ll get to it next time.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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The Gifts of Salvation, Part 22: Summing It All Up

May 30, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

And so we come to the end of the series on the gifts of salvation. It’s a long series, the longest yet on this blog. The experts discourage long series. Readers need variety, they say. Something fresh. Something that will catch their interest in a new way.

Fair enough.

But I did this long series anyway, because the length, in some ways, is the whole point.

As I said in the opening post, salvation isn’t really “a gift”; it’s a whole pile of gifts, wrapped in bright paper and tied with oversized bows and piled under the tree, where there’s barely room to contain them all.

Salvation is the most extravagant thing in the universe.

It goes on forever. Even longer than this series did. :-)

And yes, that’s the point.

God has designed the shape of the universe and the course of history around his extravagant plan to rescue you from the well-deserved disaster of your own sin and foolishness, and he has done so without your asking for or even wanting it. And he has done this not because of who you are, but because of who he is.

He has crushed your slavery to sin, not just breaking, but obliterating the shackles, and he has instituted an intimate personal relationship with you that will endure for all eternity. He has adorned that relationship with actions that become facets in the jewel of his love, with the result that this relationship is richer and deeper and more complex than any of the relationships that we know with our fellow creatures. It’s more than servanthood; it’s more than friendship; it’s more than brotherhood; it’s more than sonship; it’s even more than marriage. It’s all those things, and much, much more, in a single relationship.

It’s unparalleled. Unique.

Holy.

And that means it’s worth everything.

Jesus said that it’s worth more than father or mother, son or daughter, even husband or wife. It’s worth more than admiration or fame before mere creatures. It’s worth more than barns full of luxuriant wealth. It’s worth more than the whole world—and all the other worlds together.

It makes the greatest evils in this life—and they are great evils—“light afflictions,” according to Paul (2Co 4.17), who knew a little something of what he was talking about (2Co 11). In one of his most frank moments, he compared all of his accomplishments in his earlier life to a giant, steaming pile of excrement (Php 3.8). That’s strong language, because it’s emphasizing the strong and central point of Paul’s entire existence—and ours as well.

What else matters? What else could possibly matter?

Shake off the shackles of life focused in this world. Delight in the extravagant gifts of God’s plan for your salvation. Abandon your dreams to him.

You won’t be sorry.

—–

This will be my last blog post here for a few weeks, while I devote my effort to blogging a mission trip. You’re welcome to follow that story if you find it interesting.

Back soon, d.v.

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The Gifts of Salvation, Part 21: Breaking the Tape

May 27, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

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

Are you a tortoise or a hare?

How’s your pace in the great marathon we call sanctification—that one element of salvation that grows and changes throughout our entire lives?

Making any progress?

Well, biblically, the answer is “yes, of course.” If you’re in the vine, you bear fruit (Jn 15.5), which the Spirit is enabling in all kinds of character development (Gal 5.22-23). You’re making progress, a little bit at a time (2Co 3.19). You’re becoming more like Christ.

But chances are you don’t feel like it.

Maybe you feel like you’re taking two steps backward for every step forward. Up and down, up and down, progress and failure, over and over again.

Or maybe you feel as though the goal is so far away—Christ is infinite and perfect, after all, and you are so filled with flaws and lusts and selfishness and evil inclinations that seem to spring out of nowhere—that you’ll just never get there. You can’t run that far.

Maybe you’re just tired.

Can I encourage you to take heart?

You’re not alone in this struggle. Others are having the same experience.

As a matter of fact, everyone’s having the same experience. Every believer living today is crammed into that tiny boat with you. We might not admit it—we’re embarrassed by our failures, and we keep them as secret as we can—but we’re all struggling, all stumbling, all frustrated that we’re not making better time per mile on this marathon God’s called us to run.

There are no super Christians.

But let’s be frank. The fact that we’re all in the same boat isn’t really much encouragement in itself. Misery may love company, but in the end we don’t want miserable companions—we want victory. We want to win.

Since we’re being frank, let’s admit that having company in the lifeboat isn’t really the solution—though it’s worth noting that in God’s plan of salvation, those walking along beside us do play a role in strengthening us for the battle through their encouragement and the exercise of their spiritual gifts in our behalf. We can help each other out, in innumerable ways. Walking this path alone is exceedingly foolish.

But there’s a much, much bigger reason to take heart. I’ve mentioned it already in this series.

It’s predestination.

You see, God has predestined you to be “conformed to the image of his Son” (Rom 8.29). He has guaranteed that you’re going to arrive—successfully—at the destination of perfect Christlikeness:

We know that when He appears, we will be like Him, because we will see Him just as He is (1J 3.2b).

You’re going to plod along, with ups and downs, fits and starts, successes and failures. And then in an instant—“in the twinkling of eye,” as Paul says (1Co 15.52), “we shall all be changed!” (1Co 15.51).

Here’s what that means: no matter how inconsistently, erratically, just plain badly you run this race of sanctification—no matter how far you are from the finish line of Christlikeness when your life here comes to an end—if you’re a genuine believer, God is going to pick you up and take you all the way to finish line at the end. And he’s going to do it in an instant.

We call that glorification, and you can read more about it in 1 Corinthians 15.20-57. And thanks to that controversial word, predestination, you can be as certain of that as that the sun will come up tomorrow (Gen 8.22).

So. What do we do in the meantime?

Earlier in this series I mentioned a long bicycle trip I took in seminary. One of my big takeaways from that trip was a change in my regional thinking. I was born in the West, where we would routinely ridicule Easterners for their talk about “mountains.” “Mountains?!” my Dad would say. “Those aren’t mountains; they’re pimples on the prairie. Now out here, we have mountains!”

And then I rode a bicycle through those eastern mountains. The first day out of Boston, the Berkshires like to killed me. Then a bit of the Catskills, then the Blue Ridge, including a bit of the Smokies—a pretty decent survey of the Appalachians, north to south.

I decided those are mountains. And my days were spent head down, dripping sweat, lost in concentration, just pedaling one step at a time, one foot after another.

Just do it.

The Christian life is a lot like that. Except that the prize at the end is a lot better than even Greenville. :-)

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