This is the reason why Bishop Ambrose — though a great man in the history of the church — did not play more of a leading role in Augustine’s conversion story.  Ambrose actually put Augustine off a bit, and never really spent intimate time with him.  Ambrose was a busy pastor and bishop, engaged in some truly important battles for the sake of Christ.  This gifted man, after distributing his vast, personal wealth to the poor upon his ordination, became an outstanding teacher and preacher.  He wrote influential books, explaining Biblical truth to his generation and refuting the heresies of his day.  He was occasionally locked into intense political struggles as well — even demonstrating his willingness to excommunicate the emperor himself (“The emperor is within the church and not over it.”) if the emperor did not publicly repent of public sins.  He was reforming worship by molding psalmody and hymnody in the direction of congregational participation.  If you have a red Trinity Hymnal, check out who wrote #58. 

But with all of that going on (and so much more), Ambrose didn’t have unhurried time for Augustine.  Simplician, on the other hand, did make room in his life for the restless messiness that was Aurelius Augustine.

Simplician was patiently willing to talk to Augustine about the important things of life.  It was said of Simplician that “by asking questions like a student, he became the teacher of those he asked.”

And Simplician did so with obvious affection for Augustine.  And that affection was mutual.  In fact, much later in life — when both men were walking with Christ — Augustine would correspond with Simplician and refer to him as “Father.” Simplician replied:  “The heartfelt affection you show in your letter is not a new and untried vintage to me, but a familiar and treasured taste brought up from the cellars.”

So, that’s the first simple but profound thing Simplician did that encouraged Augustine’s interest in the things of Christ:  he spent meaningful time with this outright unbeliever and all of his rootless ideas about the way life should be lived.  Before he began to explain the mystery and beauty of the gospel in vivid detail, he first demonstrated that he was genuinely interested in Augustine as a person.

to be continued…

In thinking about these things, I told the story of St. Augustine’s conversion.  You may have heard part of that story before. 

There’s Monica (Augustine’s mom) constantly praying and crying for her son’s conversion.  In fact, an exasperated and weary pastor once had to tell Monica to just go away and leave him alone:  “It is impossible that the son of these tears should perish!,” he finally told her.  See the July 31, 2007 blog post under this category (the story) for more of that story.

There’s also Ambrose, the great bishop of Milan, who had some influence on Augustine.

And there’s the great story of an anguished Augustine going to the garden to be alone.  But, once there, he hears a child’s voice from a nearby house chanting “Tolle, lege” (translation: “Pick up and read!”) over and over and over again.  At first Augustine thinks this must be part of a child’s game, but — not being familiar with any game that used that chant — he eventually took the chant as a hint that he should pick up a book and read part of it.  So he did. 

Paul’s letter to the Romans was nearby; he opened it up and read the first thing his eye fell upon:  “Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy.  But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires” (Romans 13.14). 

Augustine writes of that moment: “The very instant I finished that sentence, light was flooding my heart with assurance, and every shadow of doubt vanished away.” There you have the glorious moment of Augustine’s conversion.

But often overlooked in this great story is the amazing role that a man named Simplician played.  Here was a man who took his call to be an ambassador for Christ seriously. 

Simplician did four simple but profound things that encouraged Augustine’s interest in the things of Christ. 

Four simple but profound things.  Believe me:  we can learn a lot from this man.

to be continued…

“There is nothing more cheering than transformed Christian people and there is nothing more disintegrating than people who have been merely ‘brushed’ by Christianity, people who have been sown with a thousand seeds but in whose lives there is no depth and no rootage.  Therefore, they fall when the first whirlwind comes along.  It is the half–Christians who always flop in the face of the first catastrophe that happens, because their dry intellectuality and their superficial emotionalism do not stand the test.  So even that which they think they have is taken away from them.  This is the wood from which the anti–Christians too are cut.  They are almost always former half–Christians.  A person who lets Jesus only halfway into his heart is far poorer than a one hundred percent worldling.”

This is Helmut Thielicke… which means you probably ought to read it at least three times and spend the rest of the day thinking about it.

In thinking about it myself, I was reminded that this too is part of the story of the church — Christians who do not want to be content with dryness and superficiality and the easy laziness of recycling the same old insights again and again (that is, being “merely brushed by Christianity”), but who want to grow deep and strong, being firmly rooted in the transforming grace of Christ.

But how does one escape the gravitational pull towards what Thielicke calls half–Christianity?

Jesus once gave us plenty to think about in this regard when he said this:  “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it” (Luke 8.21).

I’m going to illustrate both points Jesus made with brief stories from church history…

Those Who Hear the Word of God
Dietrich Bonhoeffer (see the November 7, 2007 blog post in the story category to read more about him) ran an underground seminary for faithful–pastors–in–training in Hitler’s Nazi Germany.  You have to understand that Bonhoeffer was as smart as they come.  He was an extremely intelligent and gifted man who possessed an immense capacity for truly “constructive” criticism. 

But in the homiletics class that he taught (this is the class where seminary students learn the art of preaching), he would always set his pencil aside and listen intently to the sermon with his Bible open before him — no matter how lame, how poor, how artless, how ill–prepared the sermon was. 

He believed that the preaching of God’s Word ought to be attended to as if he were listening to the very voice of God Himself.  This was a man who wanted to hear the Word of God with all that he had.  As he did so, he was always looking to the text, always engaged, always thinking, always praying. 

And I stress again that in the story above the hearer was an intellectual and spiritual giant, while the preachers were usually unskilled, immature, inexperienced, John–Deere–green, unpracticed students who may as well have been born again last Tuesday.  But it didn’t matter.  God’s Word was being preached, and Bonhoeffer was ready to hear it.

And Those Who Do It
A young Korean man once traveled a great distance to visit the home of the missionary who had led him to Christ.  As they talked about living in the kingdom of God, the young Korean stated that he had been memorizing some verses of the Bible. 

The missionary then listened as the young man recited the entire Sermon on the Mount without error.  Impressed, the missionary commended his friend on this remarkable feat of memory.  But, being a faithful spiritual mentor, he also reminded the young man that we cannot merely “say” the Scriptures; we must also “do” them.

The young man responded:  “Oh that is the way I learned them.  I tried to memorize them, but they wouldn’t stick, so I made a plan.  First, I would learn a verse.  Then I would do it to a neighbor.  After that, I found that I could remember it.”

****************

Many in the church tend towards the unsatisfying “half–Christian” existence because we allow ourselves to become comfortable and sleepy with religious familiarity.  As Kent Hughes once said, “It is all too easy to go spiritually brain–dead when the prelude begins, to ‘say’ prayers rather than pray them, to use the cadence of a confession as a rhythmic anesthetic, to mindlessly mouth the words of great hymns and gospel songs, to nod off during the sermon, to glibly mouth evangelical creeds — and then imagine we’re really spiritual.”

Have you had enough of being feebly brushed by Christianity?  Does your faith and life seem dull, flat, and untelling?  Try really hearing the Word of God. Try really doing it. 

I’m guessing the Talmud writer knew some dudes who tended to lose their breakfast when they got angry on a full stomach.  If so, I can certainly understand his concern.  I’d want them leaving plenty of room for their rage as well.

But the Bible’s counsel for dealing with anger looks a lot different — see, for example, the June 28, 2007 post in the life category on this blog.  But today we’re taking up a brief study of what King Jesus had to say about anger in his Sermon on the Mount…

Here’s the background:  the Pharisees & co. were evidently teaching that the sixth commandment (“You shall not murder”) could only be applied to the actual deed of murder itself.  God didn’t care what else you did to that neighbor of yours, as long as you didn’t actually kill him or her.  As long as you refrain from technical homicide, you’re good.

In response to this, Jesus taught his disciples: “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire” (Matthew 5.21,22).

According to Christ, the sixth commandment covered a lot more territory than just bumping somebody off.  It also addressed unrighteously angry thoughts, unrighteously angry words, and unrighteously angry insults.

I repeat the modifier “unrighteously” to remind us that there is such a thing as righteous anger.  Think of the wrath of God against sin.  God is angry, and at the same time he is pure and holy. 

We humans (imaging God) can be righteously angry at times too.  Martin Luther called this “an anger of love, one that wishes no one any evil, one that is friendly to the person but hostile to the sin.”

But let’s put that aside for now.  The anger we’re talking about here is the stuff of sin.  It’s the stuff of pride, of egotism, of self–importance, of hatred, of resentment, of grudges, of spite, of belittling, of meanness, of verbal abuse, of sneering, of revenge, of slander, etc. — we know it well.  And here’s the deal:  even though these things may never lead to a drop of blood being spilt, God says they are tantamount to murder in his sight.

The Apostle John — one of those disciples who was listening to his King on the Mountain on this occasion — repeated this disturbing revelation:  “Everyone who hates his brother is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life abiding in him” (1 John 3.15).

As John Stott says:  “Anger and insult are ugly symptoms of a desire to get rid of somebody who stands in our way.  Our thoughts, looks and words all indicate that, as we sometimes dare to say, we ‘wish he were dead’.  Such an evil wish is a breach of the sixth commandment.  And it renders the guilty person liable to the very penalties to which the murderer exposes himself…”

It’s a solemn warning:  It’s not just murder that makes one liable for judgment, but anger makes one liable to judgment as well.  Serious judgment, if Jesus meant what he said.

And to show us that indeed he did mean what he said, he then went on to give us two illustrating applications in verses 23–26. 

Both illustrations/applications are very practical.  One comes from the context of “brothers” and worship services (verses 23,24); the other comes from the context of “accusers” and law courts (verses 25,26). 

In both the principle is the same:  anger and insult are so serious and so dangerous that whenever you realize that someone has a grievance against you (even if you realize this in the middle of church!), you must immediately take urgent action to go to the person and make the matter right. 

Do not delay, Jesus says.  Sinful anger and insult are horrible things — apparently much worse than we give them credit for being.  Evidently, we are not nearly sensitive enough to the evils of anger and insult.  Make every effort to live in peace and love with all people. 

And one of the great things about following Jesus instead of listening to the Babylonian Talmud is that if you’re committed to mending all broken relationships, you can go ahead and have that extra slice of pepperoni/bacon/pineapple/tomato/green pepper pizza.

The book I listened to was Gilead, by the amazing Marilynne Robinson.  I originally read Gilead (the old–fashioned way, with the actual book in my hands) about a year and a half ago, but it was even better this time.

Back when I first read it I was so moved that I put a short book review for it in our church newsletter.  But, since I’m not yet convinced that everyone is persuaded that Marilynne Robinson is one of the greatest writers on the planet, I thought I’d repeat that book review here, upon the occasion of my second taste of Gilead:

“Adulthood is a wonderful thing, and brief.  You must be sure to enjoy it while it lasts.” This is the kind of sentence that made reading Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, such a joy.

To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure I liked the book throughout the first 50 pages or so.  I almost returned it to the library unfinished; reading time is precious.  But I persevered and by the time I was drawing near the conclusion, I found myself reading almost every sentence twice — I just didn’t want to reach the end.

As one professional book reviewer said of this novel, it “is so serenely beautiful, and written in prose so gravely measured and thoughtful, that one feels touched with grace just to read it.”

Gilead is not like any book I’ve ever read before.  It doesn’t even have chapters.  Rather, it’s one long journal that a 77–year–old pastor is writing to his seven–year–old son.  The pastor knows that he’s dying of heart disease, and he wants to leave his son something of a record of who his father was.  He also weaves in the fascinating tales of who the boy’s grandfather and great–grandfather were.

“Gilead” is the fictional town in Iowa in which this pastor and his family live, but it’s also the name of a land in the Bible that carries heavy associations of sin and grace, bloodshed and healing, war and tranquility, judgment and salvation.  The author (a Christian) ties all of these associations into her story of fathers and their sons, of the hard work of wisdom, of the beauty and difficulties of old age, of unmerited love and unexpected blessing.

She also works with themes of faith and doubt, the power of one’s past, and one’s hope for the future of beloved children.  And the whole of it is liberally sprinkled with such profound observations on life and humanity that sometimes I literally laughed out loud and at other times I was almost brought to tears.

I don’t think it’s a problem to admit that I nearly cried several times while reading this book if I can still do more pushups than you — which I most certainly can.

Gilead won the National Book Critics Circle prize for fiction in 2004 and the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 2005 as well as the Ambassador Book Award in 2005.  Robinson has now written a companion novel to Gilead, called Home.  It’s already quite celebrated as well, but I haven’t yet enjoyed it.  A pleasure deferred is a pleasure intensified.

This report concludes our five–part investigation into the mystery of redemption…

When we began this investigation we lined up five questions that we needed to ask if we wanted to thoroughly understand and appreciate the mysterious work of redemption:
• What has God done in redemption?
• When did he do it?
• How did he do it?
• Why did he do it?
• What should we do about it?

To get to the bottom of all these questions, we’ve been interrogating Paul of Tarsus as we find him in Romans 5.6–11.  He’s been most cooperative.  We’ve got our what, when, how, & why figured out.  Now only one question remains…

Question 5: What should we do about it?
Paul’s little grey cells once again prove their worth.  He is a man of method indeed. 

He immediately answers:  we are to “rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (verse 11). 

This is what we must do, according to Paul:  rejoice!

So… now that all the pieces of the puzzle are in place, we stand back to look at the completed picture.  What Paul is saying is this: 

Those who agree with God that they themselves are spiritually “weak” (that is, they have no power to commend themselves to God) and that they are “ungodly” and that they are “sinners” and that they have the natural posture of an “enemy” of God…

Once these people have acknowledged their sinfulness and repented of it…

Once they have turned to Christ, believing that his death and resurrection is the only way of forgiveness and reconciliation with God…

Those people can freely rejoice! They can celebrate the wonder of the gospel!  They can triumph and even boast in Jesus Christ… for he alone is the glory of God’s redeemed people.

The mystery of redemption is deep and profound; so much more could be said.  In fact, I am quite certain that no one will ever say all that could be said about it.  But what Paul of Tarsus has said here in Romans 5.6–11 is a poignant beginning.

God has shown his love for us indeed.  Rejoice.

Okay, here’s where we are.  In our previous interrogations of Paul of Tarsus (as we find him in Romans 5.6–11, specifically) we’ve established what God did in the act of redemption.  We also established when he did it and how he did it.  We’ve learned quite a lot so far.

But now we come to the all–important question of motive…

Question #4: Why did he do it?
Now I’m really giving Paul the third degree.  I’m examining and cross–examining; I’m questioning and cross–questioning.  I’m concentrating all of my power and skill as a professional interrogator.  I’m roasting him, you might say — really putting the screws to him.  I’m grilling him up one side and down the other, roughing him up pretty good in the hopes that when he gets flustered he’ll spill what he knows about why God would do this unimaginable thing that he did. 

And that’s when he cracks.  I suppose the pressure of being worked over so much finally got to him.  So, here it comes:  Now Paul of Tarsus is going to tell me exactly why God would send his Son to die for our sins.

• verse 9:  so that we might be “justified by his blood”

• verse 9 again:  so that we might be “saved by him from the wrath of God”

• verse 10:  so that we might be “reconciled to God by the death of his Son”

• verse 10 again:  so that we might be “saved by his life”

• verse 11:  Paul stresses once more that God did this thing so that we might receive “reconciliation.” That seems to be the key word that ties all of the pieces together, since Paul uses this concept twice.

So… that’s what God was after the whole time — reconciliation.  We’ve finally gotten to the bottom of this. It was all about reconciliation.

Taking enemies and making them friends… taking sinners and making them holy… taking the weak and making them healthy… taking the ungodly and restoring them to the family of God.  That’s where God was going with this whole redemption thing — the fullness of reconciliation.

As I mull over what Paul is saying, a few images come breaking into my mind.  I know what it’s like — and I bet you do too — to have a broken relationship with someone who was formerly a friend or a family member or a fellow church member. 

And I also know what it’s like to then just be “tolerated” by that person, instead of being fully reconciled to them.  Perhaps you’ve been there too — tolerated, not reconciled.

Tolerated because the issue was never satisfactorily dealt with.  It was just masked, ignored, or shoved under the carpet… in short, it was denied in some way.

And when you find yourself in the same social circles with this person who merely tolerates you (and perhaps it goes both ways?), you feel this awkward tension everywhere.  It’s like the proverbial two–ton elephant in the room that everyone’s trying to ignore. 

And when you’re talking to this person, you get the distinct impression that you’re both looking at each other around this elephant — you’re peeking under his belly, over his trunk, behind his tail, perhaps over his back.  It’s really rather ridiculous the way everyone’s trying not to acknowledge the existence of this large land mammal standing between you.

Perhaps one of you has even tried to remove the elephant and be reconciled to the other, but the other party was not willing… for whatever lame reason.  You know what that’s like?  It’s absolutely miserable. 

But what Paul is saying is that a Christian need never know the misery of being “merely tolerated” by God!  I get the feeling that Paul thinks that a lot of Christians have a secret sense that this is what their relationship with God is like:  you are now officially tolerated. Only tolerated.  Not loved.  Just put up with.  Maybe a lot of Christians have a secret sense that God has begrudgingly agreed not to kill them, but he hasn’t really forgiven them and been reconciled to them in love.

Maybe when some Christians are alone with God — or perhaps even when they’re in public worship — they feel like there’s a two–ton elephant between them and God.  Some of them may even have an uneasy suspicion that this elephant is even going to keep them from heaven.

Or maybe that if they do get into heaven, they’re going to end up taking that elephant with them — they’re going to take all the accusations of their conscience with them… and just be tolerated by God for all eternity.

Which would be eternal misery.

But according to the witness Paul of Tarsus, this isn’t the case at all if your faith is in Christ.  In fact, right before the interrogation started, I remember Paul saying this about those who have faith in Christ:  “Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 5.1). 

Peace.  Not just a truce (“I won’t kill you for now.”), but peace.  And as I think about it, this is what we were made for.  We were made to be at peace with God. 

So, this is why God did what he did:  so that we might receive reconciliation (verses 10 & 11) with God through the Lord Jesus Christ.  Not toleration.  Jesus wasn’t nailed to a tree so that we would just be tolerated.  He paid for the fullness of reconciliation. 

And here’s why there’s no more two–ton elephant between sinners and a Holy God, if I understand Paul:  because the issue has been fully and satisfactorily dealt with in the death of Christ.  The issue of sin and the accusations of our consciences have not been denied by God.  They’ve not been masked or shoved under the carpet or ignored. 

They’ve been faced full on in the death of Christ. 

Hence, we arrive at the fullness of reconciliation and peace.

This interrogation has paid off big time so far.  We’ve uncovered a great deal about the mystery of redemption.

Only one question left…

Okay, so we’ve established what God has done in the work of redemption:  He showed his love for us.  We’ve also worked out when he did this:  When we were still weak, still ungodly, still sinners, while we were enemies of God.

We’ve gotten at least this much out of Paul of Tarsus, as we’ve been interrogating him over Romans 5.6–11.  Today we turn to our third question, and this is very important…

Question 3:  How did he do it?
Paul of Tarsus has been extremely cooperative so far, and I find him no less so today.  As soon as I pose the question he starts talking. 

But what he has to say about how God shows his love for us in redemption is simply unthinkable.  I repeat:  unthinkable.

As I reflect on what he has to say, I’m amazed that people who know this aren’t walking around awe–struck every minute of the day.  I suppose they’ve just grown use to the words.  If anyone like that is reading this report, consider it afresh:

According to the witness Paul (in verse 8), “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

In fact, as the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place, I realize that this is what Paul has been talking about all along:

• verse 6:  “Christ died for the ungodly”

• verse 7:  to prepare me for what he’s trying to say, Paul makes the comment that you can occasionally find heroes who will die for their friends — people they love and appreciate.  But who dies for their enemies?  Who dies for people who sin against you, people who are “weak” and ungodly?

• verse 8:  “Christ died for us”

• verse 9:  “we have now been justified by his blood… saved by him from the wrath of God”

• verse 10:  “we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son”

• verse 11:  Paul again speaks of what has happened to us “through our Lord Jesus Christ”

Apparently, the whole event of redemption hinges upon the meaning of one event — the death of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. 

As I try to process this, I am reminded of what God once said to our father, Adam.  I recall that God told him that if he ever ate of that one forbidden tree he would die.  And, indeed, on the day he ate of it he did die — spiritually speaking.  He knew the corruption and decay of sin; he knew spiritual death in the very place where he once enjoyed spiritual life. 

Yet I recall that there was also a physical death on the day that Adam fell.  Only it wasn’t Adam’s physical death.  Not yet. 

Do you remember who died?  God killed something in the place of Adam. God accepted a substitute for Adam’s death.  He slew a beast of the field, and then he clothed Adam & Eve in its skin.

And as Adam & Eve were inside of that slain beast’s skin, they understood that that beast had died (in some sense) for them.  He had died to cover them.  Symbolically, the beast had “stood” for them when it was slain.  And now they were symbolically covered with the blood of their death before God.

As I begin to put it all together, I realize that that beast was the foundation of the whole sacrificial system of the Old Testament.  That beast was the first of millions and million of beasts that were later slain for God’s people… as payment for their sins.

And if I’ve got a good read on Paul, what he’s saying is that the end of that sacrificial system came with the death of Jesus Christ, God the Son.  Ultimately, I suppose, the blood of beasts could not atone for the sins of human beings.  Beast blood could only cover those sins in a provisional way — as the world waited for the perfect sacrifice for the sins of human beings.

And as unthinkable as it is, I suppose that perfect sacrifice had to be… God Himself. And that’s what happened.  God assumed to himself a human nature and stepped into the history of his people for this precise purpose — so that He Himself might become the final sacrifice to which all of those provisional sacrifices pointed. 

This is apparently what it means that Christ died for us.  It means that all of the sins of believing people throughout history were gathered together and heaped up on the person of Jesus Christ.  And there God the Son died for — in the place of — his people.

Paul then reminds me of something he said earlier (in Acts 20.28).  He said then that the church’s salvation was obtained with the blood of God Himself.

As unthinkable as it is, this was the only way for a Holy God to show his love for fallen people and deal with their sin once and for all.  The only way was to take the penalty for their sins within himself — for God Himself to swallow and absorb within himself the death that we deserve.

This whole thing is mind–boggling, unimaginable, and unheard of… but there it is.  The only way for God to completely remove the weakness, the ungodliness, the sinfulness, and the “enemy” posture from his people was to bear the cost of their sins himself.  And so that’s exactly what he did in Jesus his Son.

This, according to Paul of Tarsus, is how God showed his love for us.

But if he thinks the third degree is over, he’s got another think coming.  We’ve still got two more questions…

Okay, yesterday we established a line of questioning that we want to pursue with Paul of Tarsus, as we find him at Romans 5.6–11.  Our initial inquiry confirmed what God has done (or continues to do even today) in the process of redemption.  In Paul’s own words, “God shows his love for us.”

Today we’re going to continue to grill the witness with a devastating follow–up question…

Question 2:  When did he do it?
The first thing I take note of is that Paul is very ready to talk.  In fact, he starts singing like a canary, telling me all he knows about the timeline involved in redemption.  In verse 6 he immediately uses the word “while.” Then later on in verse 6 he uses the phrase “at just the right time.” Then we get two more “while’s” in verses 8 & 10. 

What’s the deal with all of these time–signifying designations, you ask?  Well, apparently we’re onto something significant about the work of redemption.  I begin to gather that the timing of God’s love is going to tell us a lot.

Before I pump the witness for more information, I take a moment to reflect on what the timing of our love for people usually looks like.  I realize that we humans can ordinarily be counted on to cease loving people precisely at the point in time when they become unlovable. 

I believe the psychological mumbo–jumbo term for how this method of operation usually plays itself out is “passive aggression.” When we’re at odds with someone, we very rarely attack them outright.  We hardly ever start a fist fight. 

No, our tendency is just to give them what we like to call the “cold shoulder treatment” — we don’t talk to them, we don’t look at them, we don’t even acknowledge their existence if we can help it. 

And then 99 and a half times out of a hundred, the other person will respond by giving us the cold shoulder treatment.  And then the waiting game starts.  Each of us hopes to wait out the other — waiting for the other to eventually come groveling back to us, begging for our forgiveness.  This is what they call being passively aggressive.

You often see it in marriages.  I remember early on in my own marriage I was a great passive aggressor.  In fact, I pretty much perfected this technique — taking it to what most would consider a form of art. 

But my wife’s never been very good at it herself.  No… she’ll mess up the whole thing by wanting to go and show love & kindness to me.  I always hated that.  To the person who’s working on his passive aggressive skills, this always feels like you’ve just heaped a bunch of burning coals on his head.  That’s how King Solomon put it anyway, in Proverbs 25.22.  His wife must have been real mean that way too.

However, I have to admit that that is exactly what it usually takes to break the endless cycle of passive aggressive stupidity.  Someone has to grow up and demonstrate love.

Anyway… back to the inquisition.  I’m asking Paul of Tarsus what he knows about the timing of God’s love in the process of redemption.  My guess is that The Almighty waits until we’ve shaped up enough to ask for his love and forgiveness.

But that’s not what Paul says. 

In Romans 5.6 he says it was “while we were still weak” — that is, while we were still unable to shape up, while we were still powerless in our sin, totally depraved, spiritually dead, completely unable to commend ourselves to God in any way, without even the ability to choose to repent of our foolish ways.

Later on in that same sentence he says it was when we were “still ungodly.” I note with my detective skills that the word “still” is repeated in Paul’s original Greek.

In verse 8 he says it happened “while we were still sinners.”

In verse 10 Paul says that God showed his love for us “while we were enemies.” I note the use of such a strong word — “enemies.” We weren’t just annoyances to God, but enemies.  We were still hostile toward him, hating him and wanting to kill him — in fact, we did kill God (the Son) when we were given the opportunity.

But that’s Paul’s whole point, as it turns out.  “THAT is when God showed his love for us.”

I recall that several years ago a man in California was being tried for the brutal assault and murder of a little girl.  He was a good–looking man, so when his image began to appear everywhere in print and on television there were a lot of people (who judge everything by outward appearances) wanting to believe his testimony.

“Surely he was not in charge of his faculties when he committed this heinous crime,” people were crying on day–time talk shows.  “He deserves our pity and mercy, not our judgment.” After all, he was really handsome (you remember) and handsome people aren’t bad.

But the day of his sentencing finally came and he was indeed convicted of his crime.  And at the moment of his sentencing he turned to the cameras (which were carrying the event on live television) and made an obscene gesture with his hand.  His handsome face became cruel and twisted with hatred.

Overnight, the tide of public opinion changed.  “Ah, he knew what he was doing all along!,” people cried on day–time talk shows.  “He doesn’t deserve one bit of our pity or mercy!  He deserves death!”

But you see, according to Paul, it was precisely at that moment… the moment of our obscene gesture… that God showed his love for us.

I think we’re starting to get to the bottom of this whole redemption thing.  But we’ll continue to put Paul though the wringer tomorrow.  We still have three more questions…

After a brief hijacking during the week before Easter, the faith category now returns to our continuing study of creation, fall, redemption, & consummation.

And so we begin our exploration of Redemption. 

Somehow God has “bought back” sinners from the bondage of sin.  Over the next few blog posts this week we’re going to investigate how exactly that happened. 

Like any good detective, let’s start by lining up the questions that need to be answered.  If we want to understand redemption, we need to at least know the following:
• What has God done?
• When did he do it?
• How did he do it?
• Why did he do it?
• What should we do about it?

To get to the bottom of all of this, we’re going to need to rough up interrogate Paul of Tarsus.  We meet him at Romans 5.6–11.

Question 1:  What has God done?
Specifically, what has he done in light of the disaster of man’s rebellion against God? 

Here are the facts as we know them so far:  God created man to be good.  In fact, God created humanity to be the climax of all of his marvelous works — the kings and queens of all creation.  They were created as the very imagebearers of God Himself.  And as such, they were given the great privilege of continuing to develop and draw out the enjoyable wonders of God’s good creation.

But then a catastrophe occurred.  Humanity fell into sin and death.  They sinned against their God and are now utterly broken.  Tragically, humanity is now spiritually dead, bound, blind, deaf, and unteachable.  They are now naturally sinful, depraved, wicked, and evil in every single aspect of their beings.

What once was beautiful in every way is now repulsively ugly to a Holy God.  It is ugly with sin, with conceit, with murder, with adultery, with strife, with foolishness, with idolatry, with slothfulness, with hatred, with envy, with covetousness, with gossip, with slander, with deceit, with heartlessness, with faithlessness, with insolence, with haughtiness, with boasts of evil, with disobedience to parents & every other manner of unrighteousness.

And here’s what we want to know:  in light of all of that WHAT HAS GOD DONE?

Did he just blot out this marred, miserable, disfigured, mutilated, wretched caricature of what he once called good?

No. 

Paul tells us in Romans 5.8 that in light of all of that, here’s what God did:  “God showed his love for us.”

I found it a difficult report to believe, but King David then broke into the conversation, backing up Paul.  Here’s what he said:  “The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love…. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities…. As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him.”

In fact, he had a lot more to say along these lines as well.  His whole report is found in Psalm 103.  Consider it the testimony of a corroborating witness.

Okay, so here’s what God did in redemption:  He showed his love for us. 

Fine and good.  But we still have four more questions to go…