I was surprised and challenged to see how clearly the article on ‘contextualization’ in Briefing #102 spoke to our current debates on the topic.

And there were many others.

But like that one favourite baby photo your eye keeps straying back to, I couldn’t help returning to an article that I also highlighted in the special edition that marked our 21st birthday back in 2009—‘Four ways to live’, which appeared in Briefing #3, in May 1988. This foundational article discussed four competing sources of religious authority (the ‘authority quadrilateral’), and how the Christian is to view each one.

As I reflected on this essay, and thought about some of the issues facing us today as evangelical Christians, it struck me again how relevant the basic insight of ‘Four ways to live’ is to the issues that face us today as evangelical Christians. It is not only the issue of authority that can be mapped in a quadrilateral, but also the issue of how we come to know God, to enter a saving relationship with him and be acceptable before him.

Before I explain what I mean, as a refresher for those who also remember this classic article and as an introduction for those new to it, here’s an extended extract from the original ‘Four ways to live’ article.

• • •

Four ways to live [extract]

Most of the issues facing evangelicals today resolve into a debate about authority, and in particular the authority of the Bible. In each area of controversy, the issue is ‘Where do we go for the answer on this question? What is the truth by which we must live?’ We all believe in the authority of the Bible, or say we do—why then do we disagree?

While nearly all Christians uphold the authority of the Scriptures, in reality there are other authorities that compete with the Bible for supremacy, other sources of truth about God and our world. Most commonly, there are four claimants to religious authority:

• Bible
• Institution
• Experience
• Reason

Put simply, these four competing authorities represent four Christianities.

There are those who seek to understand their lives in terms of the Bible, and treat the Bible as the final and comprehensive authority in all matters of faith and life.

Others wish to be led more by their experience of God. They see their Christian lives in terms of following the movings and promptings of the Spirit.

A third group regards the teachings of the institution or tradition to which they belong as authoritative for their life. If their church or priest or bishop or pastor offers direction for their behaviour or understanding, they will adopt it readily and fall into line.

The fourth group bases their understanding of God and what he requires of us on human reason. They will accept and practise whatever can be demonstrated as sensible, rational and intelligent, and discard the primitive or irrational.

Each of these views springs from an understanding of what God is like. The first view is based on a God who speaks. God reveals himself to mankind through speech, through his word, and can only be known through his word. The second view assumes that God moves and acts in our lives and can be experienced directly today. The third is built on a God of order, who has called out a people to be his own—a people who are to live in unity. The fourth group has as its God one who is reasonable, rational and true.

We should find ourselves giving some assent to each of these understandings of God. Our God is all of these things. Nobody adopts any of these views to the extreme. Everybody’s theological position has a measure of Bible, Experience, Institution and Reason mixed in.

Areas not points

If we were to draw a diagram of these authorities or sources of truth, we would need to draw an area, not simply four unrelated points. There is a continuum between these different areas of authority.

Those, for example, who wish to rely chiefly on reason may also use the revelation of Scripture, as well as their experience and the teachings of their denomination. In fact, this process is inevitable.

We can hardly read the Bible without using our reason to help interpret it, and our experience to apply it to our lives.

Unfortunately, the fact that we have areas of authority rather than points leads to confusion amongst Christians. Those of us who want to have the Bible as our final authority keep finding ourselves using reason or experience to back up our argument, and even appealing to the traditions of our institution and its leaders. Furthermore, those who ultimately do not accept the authority of the Bible keep appealing to it to support their points of view, claiming all the while that the Bible really is their basis. Add to this the theological grasshoppers who flit about without a qualm, and the scene is one of chaos.

Drawing the line

Should there be lines drawn between these different viewpoints? Some say no. They argue that the Church (the institution) has given us the Bible; or that the Spirit we experience today is the same Spirit who wrote the Bible; or that the Bible will always be rational (being the product of a rational God). However, we must not be fooled. The end result of these arguments is that the Bible’s sphere of influence is radically diminished. When it is subordinated to or diluted among the other areas, the Bible ceases to speak with its own voice. It becomes a rubber stamp for our own views and prejudices.

There comes a point where one has to choose between these four competing authorities. What will we do when our experience doesn’t tally with the Scriptures? Or when our reason disagrees with our church’s teaching? Or when the Bible seems irrational or unreasonable? It is at this point that we reveal our true colours. We draw a line and take our stand. Within our authority diagram, the four areas of authority and truth need to have boundaries.

Sola Scriptura

The authority of the Bible will never be maintained unless it is maintained alone. While recognizing the subsidiary roles of experience, institution and reason in our understanding and application of the Scriptures, it is still crucial that we establish again the supreme authority of the Bible for our lives. There can be no alternative or additional authority. It is the only reliable source of truth, the only reliable guide to knowing God. The other claimants are better regarded as lampposts—helpful for illumination, but not for leaning on.

The Bible is sufficient for making God’s mind known to us, for telling us all that we need to know to live in godly obedience to him—in all ages, in all cultures, until the Lord returns. God has not left anything out that is of any significance for us as Christians. We don’t have to search elsewhere for the answer to our dilemmas. If the Bible doesn’t give an answer, then there is no dilemma—we can do as we see fit, for the issue is unimportant. If we are taught things by spiritual experiences, church traditions or rational reflections (beyond the realm of Scripture), they are unimportant for Christian living. These things must not be laid on the consciences of other Christians. If the Bible doesn’t teach it, it is not normative or significant for the Christian.

We must be on our guard against groups and individuals who follow additional authorities to the Bible. It is an oft-repeated pattern. Some additional authority teaches them some ‘truth’. They then find this truth in the Bible, reading their new idea back into the text. Before long, this ‘new truth’ has become an ‘old truth’ that Christians supposedly need to rediscover if they are to live a life pleasing to God.

Subtly, but inexorably, the Bible’s emphasis on godly living and ministry is placed to one side. The area of the Bible’s authority has been left far behind.

The Bible is not simply authoritative. The Bible alone is authoritative.

• • •

The insight of this classic article is simple enough: in the end, there will be one authority that shapes and determines all others, that provides our starting place and our end point, and that trumps the other authorities when they compete, as they inevitably do.

In fact, as Adrian Russell once pointed out to me, it’s not really four different authorities, but two. It’s God’s authority in the Bible against human authority in three forms (human experience, human institution and human reason). We are fighting one battle, on three fronts. It’s the assertion of God’s final and complete authority, against the desire of humanity to shrug off his rule and determine our own path.

In this sense, the authority quadrilateral reflects the oldest of truths about humanity—our unquenchable impulse to usurp God’s authority by misusing the good gifts he has given us. All three of the alternative authorities are in themselves good gifts from God—our feelings and experiences, our churches or institutions, and our minds or reason—and yet we cannot resist the urge to inflate them to a grotesque size and install them on a throne they were never meant to occupy.

The quadrilateral of salvation

Scriptural truth is a unified and indivisible whole (as we suggested in another early classic, ‘The Indivisibility of Truth’ in Briefing #8). The strong connections that exist between different facets or parts of God’s revelation are such that a misunderstanding or misplaced emphasis or departure from it in one area will almost always lead to problems somewhere else. Likewise, patterns, connections and structures in one area of God’s word will often be reflected in others.

It occurs to me that just as we might map four different authorities, so we might also map four different approaches to salvation. (I am using ‘salvation’ here as a broad category word to describe how we come to know God and enter a right relationship with him as saviour and Lord.)

According to the Bible, the cross of Christ is the ‘home base’ of salvation—and by ‘the cross’ I mean the empty cross, with its former Occupant now vindicated and risen from the dead, sitting as King at the right hand of God. This cross, and the blood that was shed upon it, is the ground of our salvation. On the basis of the cross—and the cross alone—we come to know God, are declared righteous by God, are reconciled to God, are redeemed from our slavery, and are delivered by God into his eternal kingdom. Through Christ’s cross we now have free access to the very presence of God. As the author to the Hebrews puts it, “we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh” (Heb 10:19-20).

None of this is new or controversial, nor is it any less thrilling or important for being so.

It is interesting, though, to consider how our salvation in Christ relates to the three areas of human activity we noted above: our Experience, our Institutions and our Reason.

In doing so, I will reflect on some trends within evangelical Christianity that I have observed over my time as Briefing editor. I offer them as observations for reflection, not as indictments of particular churches or individuals. (And if these observations turn out to be only of passing significance, or to be less disturbing than I suggest, no-one will be more pleased than me!)

Experience

It hardly needs saying that we cannot grasp hold of the salvation that God offers outside of our ‘experience’. The experience in question may be the stricken conscience or godly sorrow that leads to repentance (2 Cor 7:10), or the inexpressible joy that accompanies receiving by faith the salvation of our souls (1 Pet 1:8-9), or the heartfelt thankfulness that comes from the word of God dwelling amongst us (Col 3:16), or the agony of suffering with Christ as we find ourselves mistreated and afflicted in his name (2 Cor 1:5-7). But a non-experiential salvation is hard to imagine. The Bible certainly knows nothing of it.

And yet it is very possible to confuse the experiential conditions or effects of salvation with what brings us salvation. We can begin to think that certain experiences are the path to knowledge of God or to entering his presence or growing closer to him. When we make this connection, it is not long before we find ourselves seeking to replicate those experiences and to master the techniques that lead to them, and depending more and more upon them in coming to know God and experiencing the joy and peace (so we think) of his presence.

Historically, this is the path of Christian mysticism, with its various spiritual exercises for subduing the flesh and allowing the soul to ascend to the revelatory and saving presence of God. Looking back over the last 25 years, this sort of mysticism has occasionally poked its head up in evangelical circles in the form of such books as Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline. But during the time in which The Briefing has been in circulation, by far the most far-reaching and influential form of experiential religion has been the charismatic movement (or neo-pentecostalism).

Charismatic practice depends for its immediacy and dynamism on a set of practices through which the worshipper experiences the ‘touch of God’. These practices or ‘manifestations of the Spirit’s presence and power’ have changed in emphasis over time. In my youth, most prominent was the practice of speaking in tongues as a sign of being baptized in the Holy Spirit. In the 80s, the emphasis was more on healing, and on the presence of prophecy or ‘words of knowledge’. By the early 90s, under the influence of the Vineyard movement, ‘power encounters’ of different kinds (especially healings and exorcisms) were the means by which ‘power evangelism’ could take place, and the saving presence of God could be experienced and accessed.

Over the past 15 years or so, ecstatic ‘praise and worship’ has become the most common means within broadly charismatic churches by which God is thought to ‘show up’ or be ‘in the house’, or by which the worshipper is said to come into God’s presence and bask in his glory. The experience is powerful. The ‘praise and worship’ time might typically last for 30 minutes, with soaring melodies, strong underlying rhythms on drum and bass, repeated phrases and verses, and postures conducive to a heightened state of feeling (standing, swaying, eyes closed, arms aloft). The emotions thus stirred are interpreted as contact with God himself, as spiritual access to his presence and sustenance for the Christian life.

We must remember that all of these things are good gifts—corporate singing, emotion, even drums and bass! Nor would any charismatic Christian I know dream of denying the efficacy of Christ’s death on the cross, or claim that somehow he or she had been ‘saved from sin by music’. But in practice there comes a point where emotionally intense or miraculous experiences assume a place in our relationship with God that should only be occupied by the cross. They become instrumental (if you’ll excuse the pun). You can tell that this has happened when the cross doesn’t get talked about so much; when it ceases to be the constant theme of our preaching, our discussion, our prayers and our singing; when we regard suffering and difficulty as ungodly aberrations pointing to our lack of faith rather then as the norm and character of faithful Christian living; when the cross, in other words, is no longer our starting point and our end point, our home base, our humbling badge of honour.

Our Christian experience—especially our experience of exalted or intense emotion—must not become the ground of our relationship with God. In fact, the Bible warns us that the cross cuts across our experience. The cross is a powerless encounter. There is nothing exalted, uplifting or emotionally gratifying about a crucifixion. Some will desire a miraculous sign to demonstrate or mediate God’s presence, but Paul preaches the brutish weakness of the cross (1 Cor 1:22-23). Some will seek after asceticism or angelic worship or visions that appeal to the sensuous mind, but these have no value for the person who has been crucified with Christ (Col 2:18-23).

Institution

We can see a similar pattern with ‘institutions’; that is, with the communal or organizational nature of Christianity. Institutions are good. Our salvation is not individualistic, but communal and churchly, and this inevitably and rightly leads to structure and organization. I’m with Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck and their book Why We Love the Church: In Praise of Institutions and Organized Religion. 

In this sense the Bible can’t conceive of a salvation without ‘church’, any more than it conceives of a salvation without ‘experience’.

And yet, such is our human perversity that we have managed—on a vast scale, if we think about it historically—to turn this good gift of organized community and fellowship into an instrumentality that is deemed essential for salvation, and that mediates salvation by dispensing the means of grace (classically in Roman Catholicism). The church and its ministry colonizes the space that should be occupied by the cross of Christ.

Looking back over the past quarter of a century, I don’t see evangelical Christians rushing to embrace this sort of Roman Catholic view of the church as the mediator of salvation. However, it has been interesting (and slightly disturbing) to observe an increasing primacy being given to community, and to ‘belonging’, as a key methodology for seeing people come to knowledge of God and salvation.

The thought is that if we can persuade people to join us, to become part of our community, to experience the love and web of relationships that make up our church, then through this experience they will become Christians. We will ‘love them into the kingdom’. The church is ‘an apologetic for the gospel’, as the saying goes.

There is an obvious truth here. The loving gospel community of a Christian church is a testimony to the power and goodness of God—as indeed are all the good works that flow from the changed heart of a regenerate Christian (cf. Matt 5:16; Titus 2:9-10).

And yet the church must not become our gospel and our salvation. We must not confuse the God-glorifying fruit of the gospel with the stark message of the cross. The cross constantly teaches us that no human activity renders us acceptable in God’s sight, and that all our good works are but filthy rags. Belonging—to God and to the fellowship of his people—comes only through believing in the crucified Christ.

Reason

In much the same way, the good gift of reason or understanding is both essential to knowing God and dangerous in knowing God. On the one hand, the gospel comes to us as a word—as a message to be grasped and understood with the mind. It comes with evidence about real events in space and time—for example, that Jesus really did die and that witnesses saw his resurrected body. The gospel also comes to us as propositions that interpret those real events—for example, that the crucifixion of Christ was “for our sins” (1 Cor 15:3), and that he “redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us” (Gal 3:13).

When we preach the gospel, we are addressing the mind. We are imparting words that must be comprehended.

However, once again, Christian history demonstrates repeatedly the human impulse to invade the ground that only the cross should occupy, and to construct our own more reasonable, rational and attractive paths to salvation. Liberalism in all its forms proceeds from the assumption that if only we could make the Christian message more attractive and appealing to the minds of those we are seeking to reach, more in keeping with the beliefs and mores of the contemporary culture, then more people would see the goodness, rightness and glory of Christianity, and so join us.

In classic liberalism, this was through jettisoning certain beliefs that were seen as objectionable to the contemporary mind—in particular, the idea of miracles (such as the resurrection), or the unattractive concept of judgement, or the supposedly immoral idea of penal substitutionary atonement.

Looking back over the past 25 years, we have seen some challenges to penal substitutionary atonement from within rather than outside the evangelical camp. As evangelicals have done in the past, we have had to explain and defend this truth. And various bishops seem to keep popping up to deny the resurrection (Spong and Carnley come to mind).

Yet this is not the biggest danger for us in this area, in my view. Where we need to exercise great care is with contextualization and apologetics.

When we seek to contextualize the gospel—that is, to express it in terms that make sense to the people we’re speaking to—it is very easy to move the cross away from centre stage, precisely because it doesn’t really make sense to anyone.

This is Paul’s point in 1 Corinthians 1. In the face of those who demand a decent argument or evidence—either one that is rationally satisfying (the Greeks) or one that is miraculously impressive (the Jews)—what we preach is a cross, a message that is palpably foolish and weak. And Paul did this quite deliberately, according to God’s plan, so that the surpassing power of salvation might belong to God rather than to us.

The equivalently shocking message today would be to say something like: Americans seek freedom but we preach slavery; Australians seek prosperity but we preach poverty; Brits seek security but we preach danger. There is something unavoidably counter-cultural or counter-intuitive about the message of the cross. It defies the wisdom of our age, and shames the wise and the strong.

If we find ourselves presenting Christianity in a way that is eminently reasonable, rational and appealing according to the categories of our culture, and yet which does not feature the constant proclamation of the offensive scandal of the cross, it’s time for some re-evaluation.

The same is true with the good gift of apologetics. Apologetics is extremely valuable in defending the truths of the gospel; in defusing the bombs that opponents of Christianity hurl at the truth; in breaking down misconceptions and ‘defeater beliefs’ that get in the way of people actually understanding the message of the cross.

All the same, it is very possible to find ourselves thinking that if we could only present a warm, positive version of Christianity that emphasized its beauty

and nobility, and its social and personal advantages, then people would be drawn to walk across the bridge and find out what’s on the other side.

But the gospel bridge is in the shape of a cross. In most respects it is a confronting and appalling bridge. There’s no beautifying it. It looks foolish and weak. In fact, it says to us: “There is no way across from your side, no matter how hard you try. The only way across is if God comes over from the other side and takes you there.” The cross is offensive, because it tells us the ugly truth about ourselves.

One battle on three fronts

Each of these three areas (Experience, Institution and Reason) represents something good, necessary, godly and worthwhile. And yet each of them, through human sinfulness, can also become a false alternative path to knowing God and experiencing a saving relationship with him. Each of them can crowd out the cross, and push it to one side.

As with the issue of authority, the three alternatives are really all manifestations of the one impulse: to find a path that might lead from human experience, activity or reason to a saving knowledge of God. They are modern versions of what Martin Luther described as the ‘theology of glory’.

In his Heidelberg Disputation of 1518, Luther drew a sharp contrast between theologians of glory and theologians of the cross. In typically paradoxical and challenging terms, Luther argued that:

20. He deserves to be called a theologian, however, who comprehends the visible and manifest things of God seen through suffering and the cross.

21. A theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theologian of the cross calls the thing what it actually is.

By “a theologian of glory” Luther meant someone who saw a direct line of continuity from us and our world to God; who thought that God could be known through human reflection on this-worldly phenomena or experiences; or that the path to knowledge of God and salvation was in building upon the good that we perceive in ourselves and the world—for example, by doing good works dictated by the church (for Luther, the Roman Catholic Church).

In other words, the theologian of glory takes what is evil—the human attempt to please God, to justify ourselves before God, to contribute to our salvation, to find our own way to God through our reason or experience, to bring God’s blessing on ourselves by our works—and calls it good. And conversely, he takes what is truly good—the cross of Christ—and declares it to be an evil (since it cuts across and destroys all human ways of knowing God).

The theologian of the cross, on the other hand, sees things as they really are and calls them so. He realizes that through the cross God has chosen to reveal the full extent of his wisdom, power and love, and the full extent of human sin and incapacity. The cross declares that the path to knowing God and being acceptable to him is not via the noble, the glorious or the humanly impressive; it is not through the magnificent, the uplifting or the triumphant; it is not through taking something good in this world and building upon it. It is through something quite unexpected and shocking. It is through an act and a message that destroys all human pretension and contribution. Gerhard Forde puts it like this:

God brings life out of death. He calls into being that which is, from that which is not. In order that there be a resurrection, the sinner must die. All presumption must be ended. The truth must be seen. Only the “friends of the cross” who have been reduced to nothing are properly prepared to receive the justifying grace poured out by the creative love of God. All other roads are closed. The theologian of the cross is thus one who finally is turned about to see “the way things are”.¹ 

The cross is our home base for knowing God and being saved by him. It must remain our constant message, our sustenance, our frame of reference. Whether in our homes and families, in our churches and fellowships, or in our public face to the world, we must ‘call the thing what it actually is’. We must tell the truth, not only about God but also about ourselves.

“The thirst for glory is not ended by satisfying it but rather by extinguishing it”, said Luther. Only the cross can do that.

We seem to have moved past needing to talk about God’s providence—we’re quite sophisticated these days. By ‘we’, I mean especially our modern, western, secular society, but also the church within it. We no longer tend to think of the sun suspended and directed by God in its course. Rather, we hurtle through a vacuum on a rock, directed by the seemingly inexplicable distortion of the space time continuum created by one lump of energy condensed as matter that then directs its motion towards another. (Or so my astrophysicist friends tell me, anyway.)

Twenty-first century sensibilities dismiss the idea of an overruling God in preference to self-direction. Healthy, wealthy, intelligent, capable humans take responsibility and control of their own future through education, insurance, prudent financial investment, savvy work choices and the occasional international holiday. Christianity seems to have outgrown providence.

But life isn’t always quite so neat, is it? Our self-built image of control is all-too-easily shattered by chronic or mental illness, sudden tragic death, redundancy, relationship breakdown, and injustice. Very occasionally we realize what a tiny fragment of the vast order of the universe we actually occupy or understand.

Sometimes, in the midst of chaos or tragedy, well-meaning but possibly-not-very-helpful Christians will tell us, “Don’t worry, God’s in control”—which may or may not be an encouraging statement, depending on what you think about God. Is this some sort of Christian fatalism: “let go and let God”? Or worse, if God is somehow removed from the world, or a distant or absent overseer, this is a frightening thing to say. And it’s nothing short of terrifying if the one in control is somehow unfavourably disposed towards me.

This is just one of many points where we are greatly helped by a good understanding of God’s providence. What we’re going to do briefly here is to consider how God provides, and how he continually oversees and cares for his creation. Or, to use more technical theological language, we’ll consider the shape of a Christian doctrine of providence. To do this, we have to recognize at the start that there are a number of parts of Scripture that speak to a few interconnected points:

• the character and power of God
• the dependence of creation on God in an ongoing way
• the genuine relationship between God and creation that includes salvation and final judgement.

Can anything happen without God?

Essential to the issue of providence is the question of God’s ability to provide, in conjunction with his willingness to do so. That is, if God is unable to provide for his creatures or to interact with his creation, then the thing we’re calling ‘God’s providence’ doesn’t really exist. Similarly, if we can establish that God could act but chooses not to, then the same result applies.

So, a quick look through some of the Bible is in order. Throughout the revelation of Scripture we are shown time and time again that God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and thoroughly good. For example, as the Lord questions Job, he is the incomprehensible, unfathomable, awesome¹ creator:

Have you entered into the springs of the sea,

or walked in the recesses of the deep?

Have the gates of death been revealed to you,

or have you seen the gates of deep darkness?

Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth?

Declare, if you know all this. (Job 38:16-18)

The only possible reply here is humble repentance:

I know that you can do all things,

and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.

‘Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?’

Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,

things too wonderful for me, which I did not know. (Job 42:2-3)

The New Testament also acknowledges that no action is undertaken outside God’s ruling care. Despite boastful claims of human independence, his control is complete.

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13-15)

Not a sparrow falls to the ground without God knowing. His rule and his relationship with his creatures plays out in the generalities and in the specifics of life in this world. God, the creator, continues to care for us. The sun rises on the righteous and the unrighteous, under the creator’s directive.

God’s oversight is inescapable. But it’s not remote or absent oversight: Abraham, Moses and Jonah are just a few of many who personally experience God relenting from sending disaster in response to prayer.

And he prayed to the Lord and said, “O LORD, is not this what I said when I was yet in my country? That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster.” (Jonah 4:2)

In general we appreciate the idea of God’s provision when it benefits us—but, as Jonah pleads, we’re probably not always so quick to concur with God’s decision if it means our enemies prosper. But this is the God who reveals himself in the pages of Scripture: kind and gracious, compassionate, eager to forgive sin, but punishing wickedness. That is, God is able to provide, and shows that he does so in general terms as well as in specific events, in perfect accord with his merciful and righteous character.

The dependence of creation

What we’ve been saying about the ability and desire of God to provide for his creation can be clarified when we contrast it to alternate views. The God of the Bible who provides for us in all things is neither disconnected from creation (known as ‘deism’), nor is he in everything so that he is indistinguishable from creation (known as ‘panentheism’).

A caricature of the tragedy of our planet could be twisted to suggest that a creator set things going and then did the spiritual equivalent of walking out of the house while leaving the oven on. Clearly, as we’ve seen, this is not the biblical picture. Our Lord didn’t set the universe in motion and then leave it to its own devices. Nor is he the ‘God of the gaps’, intervening only occasionally in miraculous ways when the machinery runs off its tracks. Paul, for example, explains to the Athenians at the Areopagus in Acts 17:27 that God gives circumstances to people for their own good: “that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us.”

God is near, but is fundamentally different to creation. God is not the world and the world is not God. God is not dependent on the world, even though the world depends on him. In fact, as God cares for his creation, he very clearly does this work as God: the Father provides for his world, the Son redeems his creation, and the Spirit transforms us to bring all things together under one head, Christ.

The redeemer is the provider

See what’s happening here? The relationship between God and creation isn’t just one of distinction—that God and his creation are fundamentally different. The relationship between God and his creation has real substance because of God’s action in the past, present, and future. The grand story of the Bible goes from creation through to new creation, with the grand central stage given to the cross of Jesus Christ. God’s providential relationship with his creation is no different to this: it rests on the cross to give it real substance. Jesus, the true man, fulfils the creation mandate. Made a little lower than the angels, he has received a name greater than theirs (Phil 2:5-11; Heb 1:4). In Jesus, creation can stand in right relationship to its creator (Col 1:20) in joyful submission and adoration.

In other words, knowing the God who saves makes sense of the God who rules and provides. He sends rain on the just and the unjust, and has made all of humanity in his image—I see the compassion and wonder of God the creator in my non-Christian family and friends who deny him. That is true if God is the ruler, creator, and provider—but knowing him as the saviour and redeemer gives that providence a goal. He desires that all might be saved and know Jesus as king. He will one day bring all things together under one head, Christ, the perfect image of God. Every knee will bow and confess that Christ is Lord; all of creation will be freed from its bondage to decay; even death itself will be finally defeated. Right now creation is good, but not complete.

There’s lots to be thankful for in recognizing God’s providence—he simply provides so much, even in the tough times. The character of God and our dependence on him has big implications for our thinking as Christians about worry, guidance, prayer, accountability, evil, salvation, and scientific enquiry. But knowing the redemption found in the gospel of Jesus Christ? That means I can be confident that the one who created me is in control; my provider does have a plan. And his plan involves transferring me from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of the son he loves, for his glory.

My Father has been pleased to give me the kingdom. I will not doubt him for the rest (Luke 12:22-34).

We’re not close to any major tourist attraction. We haven’t started several networked extension services. We’re just a normal, suburban church. It is true that people say two of our pastors look like movie stars—but they mean Ben Stiller and Jack Black, so I’m not sure that really helps us in the attractional ministry stakes. (Having said that, they’re both better pastors than I am, so it is very handy to have them around.)

All the same, I think it’s instructive to reflect on how gospel-centred DNA drives the ministry practice in stereotypical vanilla suburban churches like mine—and quite possibly like yours.

Paul’s address to the Ephesian elders in Acts 20 suggests to me that the job of the pastor is threefold:

1. They must tell people they have to turn to God in repentance and put their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Paul declared the saving power of Jesus Christ to everyone:

I did not shrink from declaring to you anything that was profitable, and teaching you in public and from house to house, testifying both to Jews and to Greeks of repentance toward God and of faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. (Acts 20:20-21)

2. They must feed the sheep—that is, the flock of those who do put their faith in Jesus. Paul’s example was one of pouring himself out for the people he cared about, because Jesus cared for them:

Therefore I testify to you this day that I am innocent of the blood of all, for I did not shrink from declaring to you the whole counsel of God. Pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock, in which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to care for the church of God, which he obtained with his own blood. (Acts 20:26-28)

3. They must protect the sheep by guarding the spiritual life of that flock. Paul knew that after his departure false teachers would arise to threaten the flock, so he charged the elders with their care:

I know that after my departure fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock; and from among your own selves will arise men speaking twisted things, to draw away the disciples after them. Therefore be alert, remembering that for three years I did not cease night or day to admonish every one with tears. (Acts 20:29-31)

This final speech of Paul to the Ephesians suggests to us that we do those things in the strength of God by means of the word of his grace: “And now I commend you to God and to the word of his grace, which is able to build you up and to give you the inheritance among all those who are sanctified” (Acts 20:32).

What does that translate to in practice at our church, St Mark’s? Nothing very revolutionary.

We pray

Acts reminds us that it’s God’s church we serve in, and our service is nothing if he doesn’t act. We pray in structured and unstructured ways, in large and small groups. We start the year with a prayer breakfast, and have a prayer meeting every month. The full-time staff pray together each Monday for specific prayer points collected on communication cards at church on Sundays, and the whole staff team pray together each Wednesday. We invest time in teaching people to lead prayers in church, to ensure as best we can that our Sunday prayers are not perfunctory. Finally, we have an email version of the old fashioned prayer chain, which we use, and it works.

We prioritize evangelism

Paul did not shrink from declaring the gospel and we don’t want to either. We prioritize evangelism by structuring it in. We have two programs of parish visitation each year, where the congregation gets out in the neighbourhood, knocking on doors.

The evangelism course Christianity Explained runs ‘formally’ three to four times a year—well, it’s in the church calendar that often. What usually happens in practice is that the offer of the ‘formal’ class inevitably leads to opportunities to go through the sessions ‘informally’ in a one-to-one or one-to-two setting. We specifically and personally invite people to do it, and encourage our people to invite a non-Christian friend to do the course with them.

We do pray each week for the work of the gospel around the world and our link mission partners, but in all honesty we need to get better at supporting them.

We talk about people

We are told to pay attention to all the flock. Ministry is about the conversion and growth of people, not programs or structures. In light of that, the full-time staff go through the congregational rolls each Monday afternoon, talking about how people are going, where there might be things to be actioned, and what conversations need to be had. Then we pray about the things people have asked us to pray about.

When we are planning how we as a church and individually will be engaged in evangelism, we think about who the specific people are that we want to invite, and factor them into the planning. We try to build or shape our ministries as a church around appropriately gifted people, and equip them as best we can for those roles.

We invest in Bible teaching

The Word is what we must feed the sheep. Our preachers give one another regular and specific feedback. In particular, we give extensive feedback to student pastors. We also invest heavily in training our small group leaders (we call them ‘growth group’ leaders), aiming to put resources into their hands that help them minister to others, such as GoThereFor.com.

Each week at church there is a question time, to ensure that people have an opportunity to clarify and to further apply God’s word to specific situations. It also helps ensure that we preachers don’t get to skate over any tricky bits. We invest in Bible teaching, but we also guard it carefully—we don’t let weak preachers into the pulpit unless there is a whopping great (metaphorical) L plate around their neck because it is part of their training.

We hold people accountable to what the Bible teaches

The church is the flock of a holy God and so must hunger for holiness. We encourage our people to see all of what the Bible teaches as the good and true gift of a gracious God. We don’t leave out the ‘hard bits’ or ‘the culturally dissonant bits’, and we don’t soften them. When people are living inconsistently with what the Bible teaches we call people out on it, because God’s way is best. As part of that we don’t just speak the positive bits of the message: we also warn people of spiritual dangers. We don’t just tell them what is true, but also what is false.

We admit our mistakes and apologize for them

When other people hold us accountable to what the Bible teaches, we admit we were wrong and apologize. We do this because Christ is the only good shepherd, and we are frequently very mediocre under-shepherds.

~

I’d be very surprised if there was much that was news to any other pastor. None of it is very unique or special. There is nothing in what I’ve written above that looks like a silver bullet or a game-changing idea. That’s because we’ve become firmly convicted that the gospel is the silver bullet. The gospel is the game changer.

And so we tend to be very disinterested in the latest program, resource, methodology, strategy, or guru. We’re much more interested in the gospel as the source of our preaching, ministry, lives, and relationships.

The apostle Peter makes it clear that “His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence” (2 Pet 1:3). We have what we need to do ministry effectively in the glorious gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. What we should therefore do is act like that’s true, and not look for the silver bullet elsewhere—God has already given it to us.

Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labour is not in vain. (1 Corinthians 15:58)

The response to Christ’s victory and the hope of a future, glorified resurrection body is to stand firm and to abound in the work of the Lord. But what does Paul mean by “abound in the work of the Lord”? In this article I want us to simply do two things—work out what this phrase actually means, and then think through its implications.

Some have taken this phrase, coming as it does at the conclusion of Paul’s great defence of the bodily resurrection of believers, to refer to whatever we do in this creation motivated by the resurrection. This is not an uncommon interpretation—Christopher Wright,¹ Paul Stevens,² Tim Keller,³ and NT Wright have all argued for what we might call the ‘maximal’ interpretation of 1 Corinthians 15:58: that the ‘work of the Lord’ is essentially anything that Christians do because of the resurrection. For example, Wright argues:

Every act of love, gratitude and kindness; every work of art or music inspired by the love of God and delight in the beauty of his creation; every minute spent teaching a severely handicapped child to read or to walk; every act of care and nurture, of comfort and support, for one’s fellow human beings and for that matter one’s fellow non-human creatures; and of course every prayer, all Spirit-led teaching, every deed that spreads the gospel, builds up the church, embraces and embodies holiness rather than corruption, and makes the name of Jesus honored in the world—all of this will find its way, through the resurrecting power of God, into the new creation which God will one day make.⁴

Wright and others essentially move from the fact that the resurrection affirms creation to the idea that ‘the work of the Lord’ is anything done in response to this fact.

The obvious strength of this maximal interpretation is that it recognizes the importance of the doctrines of creation and resurrection for Christian living. The fact that the Bible affirms creation must have an impact on how we live in the world.

But the problem comes when this ethical reflection doesn’t land in the specific commands and exhortation of Scripture. This is the opposite problem to proof texting—taking verses out of context—in that the context seems to determine everything without regard for the specific commands of Scripture. Thinking about the impact of the resurrection on the Christian life must go hand in hand with looking at the application that the New Testament itself makes. It is not enough to read a phrase such as ‘the work of the Lord’ in light of the doctrines of creation and resurrection: we have to carefully look at it in its own context.

I think that when we examine this phrase ‘the work of the Lord’ in its context, we get a much more specific picture appearing. Rather than general Christian living, ‘the work of the Lord’ refers to what believers do to advance the gospel among unbelievers and to establish believers in the gospel.

The doctrines of creation and resurrection in general are not what are shaping Paul’s ethic. Rather, the priority of God’s work in Christ is what produces a glorified, resurrected people who will bear the image of his Son (1 Cor 15:49). The command to abound in the work of the Lord doesn’t simply flow out of the relationship between the resurrection and creation—it is actually shaped by Christ.

In other words, ‘the work of the Lord’ is an activity with a particular goal: more people bearing the image of the Son.

Paul essentially makes this point negatively earlier in the chapter:

Why are we in danger every hour? I protest, brothers, by my pride in you, which I have in Christ Jesus our Lord, I die every day! What do I gain if, humanly speaking, I fought with beasts at Ephesus? If the dead are not raised, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.” (1 Corinthians 15:30-32)

If men and women are not raised, what is the point of Paul’s suffering for proclaiming the gospel to them? Verse 58, then, is the positive side of this. Precisely because they will be raised, it is worth it for Paul and every Christian to be devoted to the ‘work of the Lord’.

To properly establish the point that the work of the Lord consists of edification and evangelism—because it’s an important point to make—I want us to briefly consider the context of 1 Corinthians, as well as some other letters of Paul, before we turn to some suggestions for how this work of the Lord might play out for us.⁵

The context of ‘the work of the Lord’

The second half of verse 15 draws a parallel between ‘work’ and ‘labour’ (“knowing that in the Lord your labour is not in vain”). The exertion required by the Corinthians in this ‘labour’ suggests that the ‘work of the Lord’ is strenuous work, and fits with the idea that the activity is specific Christian ministry rather than general Christian activity. Throughout Paul’s letters the goal of his labour is to proclaim the gospel and establish the churches. To parallel labour with ‘the work of the Lord’ suggests that Paul understands the latter phrase as the same sort of ‘gospel’ labour that he himself has been involved in, such as the work he reminds them of earlier:

But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them [or ‘I laboured more abundantly than all of them’], though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me. Whether then it was I or they, so we preach and so you believed. (1 Corinthians 15:10-11)

The similarities between verses 10 and 58—labour/abounding/God’s empowering—suggests that we understand the labour and work in which Paul wants the Corinthians to abound to parallel his own apostolic labour: it is labour with the goal of the gospel progressing, and Christians being built up in the gospel. That is, it consists of evangelism and edification.

Paul’s references to this idea elsewhere in 1 Corinthians strengthen this specific focus. In 1 Corinthians 3:9-15, Paul describes himself and others such as Apollos as ‘fellow workers’ who belong to God. Each one will have their work become manifest on the last day when the nature of each one’s work (v. 13) will be tested ‘by fire’, leading to the worker’s suffering, loss, or reward (vv. 14-15). Though Paul does not use the phrase ‘work of the Lord’, the description of Paul and Apollos as ‘God’s workers’ connects the two passages. The work that Paul and Apollos do as God’s workers is work directed to the Christian community, whom Paul describes as ‘God’s field’ and ‘God’s building’ (v. 9). Paul and Apollos do the work with the Corinthians as the object of the work: it is the work of building up the people of God (v. 10). Verses 11–15 further specify the nature of the work. Again, it is the work of building the people of God, a work that is carried out on the foundation of Jesus Christ (v. 11). God’s work that Paul and Apollos are engaged in is the work of building the church.

Then in 16:10, Paul exhorts the Corinthians to put Timothy at ease when he comes since ‘he is doing the work of the Lord’ just as Paul himself is. Again, this suggests that there is specific content to ‘the work of the Lord’—it is something that Paul can point to himself and Timothy doing, specifically, building the church (cf. 4:17). Rather than a general term, ‘the work of the Lord’ that Timothy is doing has a specific, identifiable goal. In applying it here to himself and to Timothy, Paul assumes that the term is concerned with ministry to other Christians.

A few verses later in 16:15–16, Paul commends the household of Stephanas and tells the Corinthians that they are to be ‘subject to such as these’ and to ‘every fellow worker and labourer’. As he continues he describes the household of Stephanas as ‘the first converts in Achaia’ and as having ‘set themselves in service to the saints’. It seems, then, that the nature of their work and labour is the service to the saints. In the immediate context of 1 Corinthians 15:58, therefore, Paul identifies his fellow ‘workers’ and those doing the ‘work of the Lord’ as those who are active in ministering to and serving the needs of others in the church. In 15:58 he is calling the Corinthians to participate in this ministry, to give themselves also to the work given by the Lord of serving and building his church.

Throughout 1 Corinthians, then, ‘the work of God ‘and ‘the work of the Lord’ is the particular work extending the gospel and establishing churches. Because of the resurrection, Paul gives himself to this work at great personal cost (15:30–31) and calls the Corinthians to be involved in this gospel work (15:58)—work directed at ensuring the gospel progresses, and ensuring the church is built up.

What then can we say about those other activities done in light of the resurrection—caring for physical needs, caring for creation, and so on? They are good things, and we should do them—they are clear examples of loving our neighbours—but they are not what 1 Corinthians 15:58 is about. Paul’s conclusion here is to talk of activity that has specific Christ-centred, gospel-advancing and gospel-establishing content. We must not dilute what God’s word says to us here: because of the resurrection we are to devote ourselves to the work of the Lord, and that means work that is focused on more people hearing the gospel and Christians being built up in the gospel.

The secular work/Christian work divide

It is very important to note that 1 Corinthians 15:58 is directed to the Corinthian church—not just to the elders and leaders. This abounding in the work of the Lord is for every Christian. It is a truth we all believe but that we need to be reminded of constantly—gospel ministry is for all believers.

I wonder if, in our right enthusiasm to encourage people into Bible colleges and seminaries to be trained and equipped in the most rigorous way possible, we have unintentionally sent the signal that those who remain in secular work are somehow less significant as Christians. And that—again, unintentional—signal has created an unhelpful Christian-versus-secular work divide.

So some Christians who have remained in secular work have (understandably) reacted against this idea that they are second-class Christians—and have attempted to argue that their work in and of itself has redemptive significance. Now, to track out the Bible’s view on work would be a set of articles in itself⁶—but I wonder if part of the answer is that we all need to once again feel the force of the New Testament’s teaching that gospel ministry is for all Christians—the Corinthians were all to give themselves to the work of the Lord. And so gospel ministry should not be put into competition with secular work. Someone in a secular job can honour God in how they do their job—they are not just wasting their time at work. The fact that their work can be done in a way that honours God indicates that it is not meaningless. But that person is also called by God through Paul to be always abounding in the work of the Lord—to give themselves as they are able to the work of the Lord. And that is work with specific Christian content—
it is not the same as the actual activity
of their secular job.

Now, I suspect we all know this—I am probably preaching to the choir here. But I want to just push us a bit and ask to what extent we actually put this into practice in our churches. Do our structures reflect the fact that ministry done by any believer—whether they are college trained or not—is equally significant?

Let me offer two diagnostics—a quick look at a familiar passage, and a brief case study.

Ephesians 4: The necessity that all Christians do gospel ministry

Paul’s explanation of the unity and diversity of the church in Ephesians 4 shows us that the Word-focused roles are for the equipping of God’s people:

And [Christ] gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ. (Ephesians 4:11-12)

Paul is saying that pastors equip God’s people—church members, if you like—so that they can do the work of ministry. So, ministry here is actually done not by clergy but by church members.

But that is not just a nice way of including everybody—so that everyone is involved and doesn’t feel left out—it is vital. The health of the church is at stake:

Until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ… (Ephesians 4:13)

Great faithful teaching ‘from the front’ is not enough. Unity, knowledge and maturity depend on every Christian doing the work of the ministry.

And in this context this is ‘ministry’ with teeth. It is not simply setting up chairs or serving morning tea (good things that these are)—the only ministry that Paul identifies in this context is “speaking the truth in love” (v. 15). Paul has already referred to the truth in 1:13—“the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation”—so the picture here is a church where everyone is speaking the truth of the gospel to one another, formally and informally. However they do it, their conversation is filled with the gospel. This is the work of ministry.

But again we need to feel the force and necessity of this. The aim here is not to affirm the pastor by speaking about his sermon after church. No, this simply must happen:

… so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. (Ephesians 4:14)

Children are helpless. Without people to care for them they perish. But think of children on their own in the middle of the ocean, being buffeted by the wind and waves. And now think of them on their own, in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by crafty, cunning men who seek to destroy them. Totally hopeless. And yet that is the church without this gospel ministry done by each member.

The idea that all Christians should engage in gospel ministry is not a nice optional extra. It is not a hat-tip to the social egalitarianism of our age—it is vital. It is vital for the health of the church. This conviction is basic Protestant evangelicalism—this is our bread and butter, our DNA if you like.

And as we do it we “grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ” (v. 15).

The ultimate focus and motivating factor in both Ephesians 4 and 1 Corinthians 15 is not the goodness of creation but the glory of Christ. Earlier generations of evangelicals may have unhelpfully denied the goodness of creation, but the solution is not to over-correct that error. The New Testament affirms creation, but it doesn’t exalt creation. And often modern reflection on eschatology and the idea of the continuity of creation and new creation ends up exalting creation.

The New Testament affirms creation but it exalts Christ. So our activity is not primarily to be done in view of the fact that there will be a new creation, but that one day Christ will be seen for who he is.

A brief case study: St Helen Bishopsgate

I want to very briefly speak about one church that I have been part of that I think has put this idea of the priority of gospel ministry for every believer into practice very well. It’s not necessarily a template for how ministry must happen everywhere, but it is a wonderfully clear example of a church taking every member’s gospel ministry seriously.

One of the great strengths of the ministry at St Helen’s is their Bible study program Read Mark Learn (RML). More than anything else at St Helen’s, I think these RML Bible studies put God’s word at the centre of the ministry. 1000 people a week meeting centrally to study God’s word together over a three-year program—Mark or John, Romans and an overview of the Bible. The leaders of these Bible studies meet once a week in their own Bible study group, preparing the following week’s passage. There are three weekends away a year for Bible study members where they study doctrine, and an additional two weekends away for Bible study leaders. So if you are an RML Bible study leader—and you may be a teacher, a banker, an electrician, whatever—in term time you are leading or co-leading a Bible study every week, you are in your own training Bible study every week and you go on five weekends away a year.

So, you have people who are not in full-time ministry as such but nevertheless engaging in meaningful, significant and important gospel ministry. This creates a culture where people talk about God’s word—RML leaders talk about the passages they are leading, members talk about the passages they are studying. This is a significant ministry of a significant church in London and it is—if you like—lay ministry. And people take it seriously. One friend I knew would come from work in the city, lead his study, spend time with his group, and then head back to the office. Or my flat-mate who would come home from working in an office and would spend two evenings a week preparing his Bible study—he was in the word, wrestling with the text and praying for his group. He was doing gospel ministry—he was abounding in the work of the Lord.

Now, it is very much a big church in a big city—I know some of their structures could not work in many other churches. Nevertheless, St Helen’s is a church that has worked very hard at putting the idea of the priority for gospel ministry for every Christian into practice. It really is every member ministry with teeth.

What would it look like in your church? What would ministry look like if everyone took their responsibility to speak the truth in love seriously, and sought to abound in the work of the Lord?

We started in 1 Corinthians 15:58 and we have finished with Ephesians 4. Two passages that I think underline the importance of every Christian making gospel ministry a priority. And in both passages we have strong motivations. This is not a nice extra to our church lives so that everyone can feel involved—it is vital. The health of the church depends on everyone speaking the truth of the gospel to one another. Furthermore, we’re assured that as we put our shoulders to the plough together for the gospel our labour in the Lord is not in vain: one day we will be vindicated, transformed, and made like Jesus, with him forever.

Our work is to be done in light of the fact that one day Christ will be seen for who he is.

So, let’s press on—let’s not give ourselves to the things of this world, for we know that this world in its present form is passing away—let us, whoever we are, give ourselves wholeheartedly and abundantly to the work of the Lord.

Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace my fears relieved

Grace is God’s mercy – especially when we don’t deserve it! My first memory verse says,

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.” [Ephesians 2:8-9]

Grace inspired those lines first quoted on our sign board, from that most famous of hymns, “Amazing Grace”, by Rev John Newton, the slave-trading sea captain, turned Anglican minister.

This month of August marks the 250^th anniversary of the publication by John Newton in 1764 of his autobiography, An Authentic Narrative of Some Remarkable and Interesting Particulars in the Life of … Communicated in a Series of Letters. (They liked long book titles back then. They also liked to publish anonymously if being self-referential – a far cry from how we’d do it today!)

Newton lived 1725-1807. His mother died when he was six. Newton became a sailor, and lived what he considered a corrupt and immoral life, eventually as a slave-trading sea captain.

His conversion to Christ began with a storm at sea. Initially he continued in the slave trade but ensured the slaves were treated more humanely. But after leaving maritime life, at the age 39, also 250 years ago in 1764, he became an Anglican Minister. And eventually he came to oppose the slave trade. And to write his hymn.

Newton was a mentor for William Wilberforce, the British MP who led the dogged two-decade fight for the abolition of the slave trade. Newton also played a key role in ensuring a Christian chaplain, Rev Richard Johnson, was placed on the First Fleet sailing to establish the new colony of New South Wales. I guess Newton wanted the comfort and challenge of God’s grace to ring out to the many convicts transported to Australia.

His autobiography is structured around a series of letters he wrote to explain his life’s journey. He dates the start of his conversion to 10 March 1748, when he expected to die at sea in a storm, explaining,

“I continued at the pump from three in the morning till near noon, and then I could do no more. I went and lay down, uncertain, and almost indifferent, whether I should rise again.”

As he considered his immortality and rejection of God, he writes,

“I concluded, at first, that my sins were too great to be forgiven.”

But remarkably, when “ beyond all probability” the ship looked like surviving, he says,

“I thought I saw the hand of God displayed in our favour. I began to pray. I could not utter the prayer of faith; I could not draw near to God, and call Him Father. … I now began to think of that Jesus whom I had so often derided; I recollected the particulars of His life, and of His death; a death for sins not His own, but, as I remembered, for the sake of those who, in their distress, should put their trust in Him.”

Newton said it was not till several years after that he had “gained some clear views of the infinite grace of God through Christ Jesus”. But he concludes his letter VIII by saying…

“About this time I began to know that there is a God that hears and answers prayer.”

Here’s his hymn…

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev’d;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ’d!

Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
’Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

In Athens Paul proclaimed the resurrection and a few believed (Acts 17:34). By no means a total waste of time, but not an unmitigated success. But Athens was a tough town. Surely this stuff would have had a better hearing in a place like Jerusalem: good old end-times obsessed, religiously nutty, resurrection-oriented Jerusalem. The stats seem to confirm it: at the end of Peter’s speech on the topic of the resurrection in Jerusalem, about 3,000 were added to their number (Acts 2:41). If we put the number of people responding at the end of Paul’s speech at a generous 20, it would seem that Peter’s speech was 15,000% more effective.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

However, it is extremely unlikely that Luke meant us to run the odds and conclude that we should preach more like Peter and less like Paul—Acts being a book less about ‘How to Make Your Church Grow Big’ and more of a ‘How to Still Sing Songs Whilst in Prison for Jesus’ kind of book. And Peter’s ‘success’ on that day surely had an awful lot to do with the kind of mental furniture already in the minds of his Old Testament soaked audience.

And that is true—but not in the way many of us imagine. It’s true that Peter’s Jerusalem audience were Old Testament soaked, but does that fact alone make the claim ‘Jesus is raised from the dead’ an easy sell? Not exactly. In this article, I want us to think about (1) what exactly it was Peter’s audience believed about the resurrection before he started to speak, and (2) how Peter’s speech might have confirmed, extended and even radically altered their expectations regarding the resurrection. Because the truth is, once a man stands up in Jerusalem and says that his guy has risen from the dead and therefore he’s the Messiah, there is still lot of heavy lifting to do. Jewish people in the first century were expecting a lot of things—but no-one we know of was expecting that.

The Old Testament and the afterlife

Contrary to popular belief, the Old Testament doesn’t have a whole lot to say about life after death. If religion is supposed to be all about death and the afterlife, the Jewish people missed the memo. At a broad level, the Old Testament just isn’t about that topic—
at least not directly. And, what’s more, when the Old Testament does talk about the afterlife, what it does say is often oblique and almost always negative. I was once engaged in a public dialogue with a Jewish Rabbi, who was gently chastising us Gentiles for our sentimental attitudes to death. “Judaism is about life!” he exclaimed. “We hate death.”

Let me show you what I mean. Consider, for example, the many psalms in which the psalmist pleads with God to spare his life, because death is A Really Bad Idea:

For in death there is no remembrance of you;

in Sheol who will give you praise? (Ps 6:5)

“What profit is there in my death,

if I go down to the pit?

Will the dust praise you?

Will it tell of your faithfulness?” (Ps 30:9)

The dead do not praise the LORD,

nor do any who go down into silence. (Ps 115:17)

Notice the way death in these psalms is an entirely negative outcome. It is a state in which nobody wins: the psalmist becomes dust, and God is not praised.

Some Old Testament writers appear to have almost no hope of any conscious existence beyond the grave at all. Consider, for example, Ecclesiastes:

This is an evil in all that is done under the sun, that the same event happens to all. Also, the hearts of the children of man are full of evil, and madness is in their hearts while they live, and after that they go to the dead. But he who is joined with all the living has hope, for a living dog is better than a dead lion. For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing, and they have no more reward, for the memory of them is forgotten. Their love and their hate and their envy have already perished, and forever they have no more share in all that is done under the sun…

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might, for there is no work or thought or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol, to which you are going. (Eccl 9:3-6, 10)

Other Old Testament writers see some sort of consciousness in the place of the dead, in Sheol, but it’s a long way from eternal bliss. Consider for example the words of Isaiah the prophet to the Babylonian rulers about what they can expect at their death:

“Sheol beneath is stirred up

to meet you when you come;

it rouses the shades to greet you,

all who were leaders of the earth;

it raises from their thrones

all who were kings of the nations.

All of them will answer

and say to you:

‘You too have become as weak as we!

You have become like us!’” (Isa 14:9‑10)

Notice how vague and ethereal it all is: these once great kings, now stirred from their sad slumber in Sheol, weak and ghoulish.

There are some intriguing cases in the Old Testament of communication with the dead (something regularly forbidden) and most famously the case of Samuel, whose spirit is disturbed by the witch at Endor (1 Sam 28:3-25). But there is little in the Old Testament on what that state is like, and almost nothing to suggest that Sheol, the place of the dead, is a place of blessing or an object of hope. Sheol is not a hope to long for, but a place to be rescued from. And the Old Testament says virtually nothing about ‘heaven’, at least as we popularly conceive it as the place we go to be with God when we die.^[1] Remember the Rabbi? “Judaism is about life! We hate death.” Sounds like the words of someone who knows their Old Testament.

“But what about resurrection in the Old Testament?” I hear you say. And you are right. There are a number of places in the Old Testament that do talk explicitly about the resurrection. Chief among them is Daniel 12:2-3:

“And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. And those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky above; and those who turn many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever.”

Undeniably here you have a statement of resurrection belief. It comes as God’s answer to the cry of the psalmist. To the psalmists’ plea, “Who praises you from the grave?” God’s answer is, “No-one, therefore I will raise you up”. Resurrection, you see, is not a word that means the nice side of the afterlife. It does not re-cast death; it casts off death. Resurrection is a rescue from the grave, not a refurbishment of the grave.

By the time of Jesus, the hope of the resurrection is the orthodox Jewish understanding. But it is not the only option on the table—the Sadducees, for example, did not accept it. And the wider point is that life after death is a minor plot line in the Old Testament, not the major obsession we might assume it is.

The rising Messiah?

In first-century Israel, beliefs about what happened when you died were a live issue. It was something that divided one school of Jewish thought from another, rather than a core thing on which they all agreed.

The second great obstacle for Peter’s message on that day in Jerusalem was that the idea that the Messiah would rise from the dead simply wasn’t, as far as we know, on the table for anyone. There were many messianic claimants around the time of Jesus. If ‘rising from the dead’ was a thing the Messiah was supposed to do, then you can be sure that every man and his dog would be, Weekend at Bernie’s style,^[2] working on elaborate schemes for proving that their guy rose. But, apart from the Christians, no-one did that. Why? Because in the first century, if you said “Hey, our guy rose from the dead!”, you would eventually get the reply “And…?” No-one would fill in that blank with “therefore he’s the Messiah”. It was a case you had to argue for,not something you could argue from.^[3]

So why does Peter’s speech get such a good reception from the crowd on that day? Why does he get a good hearing against a background where:

1. life after death isn’t the major concern of the Old Testament
2. a general resurrection of the righteous and the unrighteous is the hope on which the Old Testament eventually lands
3. no-one we know of around the time of Jesus expected a resurrection of a single individual in history, and no-one expected that of the Messiah?

What was Peter’s speech drawing on? If they were divided on the ‘what happens when you die?’ question, why was he able to make such sense of a resurrection? And if rising from the dead was on no-one’s job description at the time, how was he able to persuade so many that (a) resurrection is what happened to Jesus, and (b) that meant he was the Messiah?

Well, to attempt an answer, let me have a shot at getting into the head of one of Peter’s listeners on that day. What did they believe? What story did they tell themselves? How did the story Peter was telling plug so readily into to the story they believed they were living? Well, I think if you were to ask for that story, the stream of consciousness might go a little something like this:

Our God is the Lord of Heaven and Earth. He made this world, he made us, and he chose Israel. Our father Abraham was chosen by God so that we, his descendants, could bring the blessings of God to the world and to the Gentiles. God promised to Abraham that through him and through his children, all nations would be blessed. And we would be great.

But our story has been a rocky one. Abraham had Isaac, and Isaac had Jacob, and Jacob had twelve sons. Those sons tried to kill their brother Joseph and they threw him down into a pit. His brothers and his father thought he was dead. But God raised him up. God lifted him out of the pit and brought him into the land of Egypt. He was taken to Egypt as a slave, but he was bought by an Egyptian and God gave him success and lifted him up, and the Lord blessed the household of the Egyptian through Joseph!

But there was a plot against Joseph and he was thrown into prison and languished there. However, God raised him up again and brought him from prison to be the Prime Minister of Egypt. And through his wisdom and power and faithfulness he saw that a famine was coming, and saved grain and was able to feed the world. All nations were blessed through him. But after Pharaoh another arose who didn’t know Joseph, and our people were enslaved in Egypt for 400 years. But God sent us Moses, and through Moses he raised us up out of Egypt and carried us on eagle’s wings to Sinai. And there God made a covenant with us. He gave us the Law, and he made us priests of the whole earth, so that the whole earth could know our God through us.

And God took us into the land, and he gave us a great king, King David. David first suffered—he was chased by his enemies—and then was crowned with glory. God was with him and made him the Anointed One of Israel, the Messiah. And God promised that a Son of David would rule Israel forever and bring blessing to the nations. And Solomon was that great son. He sat on David’s throne. And we were wealthy, and we were wise, and we were at peace, and we had a temple.

And just as God had promised, the nations began to stream into Jerusalem, to hear the son of David’s wisdom and see his splendour. And they could see that God was with us. We were a city on a hill. We were the light of the world. But then it all came unstuck. Solomon and his sons walked away from the Lord. They became corrupt and did not follow the covenant and commands of the Lord. And we were warned, again and again by the prophets, that if we did not return to the covenant, we would be cast out of the land, just as Adam and Eve were cast out of Eden. And we did not listen.

The northern kingdom was destroyed by the Assyrians, and two hundred years later the southern kingdom of Judah was taken into exile by the Babylonians. Our king, the son of David, Zedekiah, had his eyes plucked out and he was led blind and chained into Babylon. And for 70 years we were humiliated. The nation that had been rescued from slavery in Egypt had been sent back into slavery in Babylon. Sometimes we were angry, and we sang songs of revenge and vindication. But mostly, we were sad. We wept. The dream was over. And (as the prophets kept telling us) it was all our fault.

But then, in the community in exile, a rumour started to spread. Word started to filter through from the prophets that there was life on the other side of our nation’s death. That even though we had broken the covenant, God was going to do something for us. That God was going to raise us up and do something new with us and through us.

One of our prophets said it was as if Israel was a valley of dry bones. It was as if we had died as a nation. But he saw us, a valley of dry bones, being breathed on by the breath of God, just as Adam had received the breath of God in the garden. And the prophet saw all the bones coming together again, and he saw tissue and muscles begin to form on the bones and he saw skin and bodies coming together. And there they were—a mighty and vast army. And God breathed into them the breath of life, and they stood, and lived.

And it was us! We were that army. Us! Refugees! We were going to stand again.

And we did. God sent Cyrus, and through him we were returned to our land. And we built a new temple. And we began to rule our home again. And we were a nation again.

Sort of. In a way. If you squinted.

Because, to be honest, since returning to the land, it has not been great. We’ve had some high points, but actually, for most of the time we have been under foreign rule. We have been trampled on and taken over and beaten up. To be honest, we thought it was going to be more than this. God seemed to be saying that through us he was going to bring redemption to the world, even a new heaven and a new earth, and the end of conflict, and the Spirit upon all flesh, and forgiveness of sins. And that David’s son would come and make us a nation again. And that hasn’t happened.

Yet.

That, or something very like it, was the sort of story the people listening to Peter in Jerusalem had in their heads. At least, that is the story faithful Israelites—the sort of people you meet at the beginning of Luke’s Gospel—had in their heads. People like Anna and Simeon, Joseph and Mary. People who longed for the consolation of Israel, the redemption of Jerusalem.

Because, when someone has made you a promise, and the promise hasn’t come through yet, you have a couple of options. You can abandon the promises, deciding that the one who made the promise just hasn’t come through. You can fudge the promise, and decide that whatever has happened now is a rough approximation of the promise and it will have to do.

Or you can wait.

˜

At school I was never very good at sport. It’s a genetic thing. It didn’t particularly trouble me. But I do distinctly remember one day when, at a school sports carnival, I ran the 1,500 metre race and came a predictable second-last. That didn’t worry me. What did worry me was that, as the stickers for first, second and third place were proudly attached to the t-shirts of the winners, the rest of us were given a sticker that said “I did my best”.

Even then, at age seven, I felt the insult. I had come second-last. And the school declared, in effect: “This is as much as we ever expect from this boy. A poor result by any objective measure, but the best he can do.”

And at the time of the New Testament we find a group of people who refuse to say to God, “You did your best”. We meet people like Mary and Joseph and the gang, who remember what God promised the exiles, and who kept saying to themselves and to each other, “This can’t be what God meant. This can’t be God’s best.” That is, they are the people Jesus describes in the sermon on the mount: “Blessed are the poor in spirit…”

Now, consider Peter’s speech from that angle. What is Peter saying? First, Peter says, “This is it!” (see Acts 2:16). This is that time—the promise that God made to us all those years ago is coming now. That promise that he would come and restore Israel and pour out his Spirit on all people and forgive our sins. This is that.

“Secondly,” Peter continues, “we all made a big mistake with Jesus. Jesus was accredited to us by God through signs and miracles. We handed him over to death, but God raised him up. Remember? God had promised to put one of his descendants on his throne. Which one? Not Solomon, but the one David was prophesying about when he said in the Psalms, ‘you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead, nor will you let your holy one see decay’. That was David speaking of the Messiah! God raised up Jesus—and that means that he’s the one. The time of our exile has ended. The Messiah has come. ‘Let all Israel be assured of this: God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah.’”

Understanding this hope

Here’s where I’m trying to take this:

First, there are Old Testament passages that affirm the hope of the resurrection. Not heaps. Not all over the place. But they are there, and like a dry Australian forest in late summer, you only have to put a match to them for them to burst into flame.

Secondly, and more importantly, there is a whole shape of Old Testament story into which the resurrection of Jesus fits. The claims of the New Testament don’t rely on a kind of Where’s Wally? approach to the Old Testament. Raising up Israel, vindicating and restoring Israel, is what God does. The big surprise is not that God can raise people from the dead, but that he did it now. In history. With this guy. With Jesus. Surprising, but once you get over the initial shock, what it must mean can be plugged pretty readily into what you already know about God and the way he operates. NT Wright puts it in these terms:

The world of Judaism had generated, from its rich scriptural origins, a rich variety of beliefs about what happened, and would happen, to the dead. But it was quite unprepared for the new mutation that sprang up, like a totally unexpected plant, within the already well-stocked garden.^[4]

Thirdly, notice how simple Peter’s resurrection theology is. There are two verdicts on Jesus:

1. We thought he was worthy of crucifixion.
2. God thinks he is worthy of resurrection.

On that day in Jerusalem (and through to this day) those two verdicts haunt everyone who has ever considered the claims of Jesus. We thought he deserved to be crucified. God contradicted that verdict. Now, there are two opposite verdicts on Jesus there: ours and God’s. Which are you going to choose?

^[1] More on this in chapter 5 of the book when it comes out.

^[2] Weekend at Bernie’s being a forgettable 1980’s comedy in which the protagonists carry around the body of the recently deceased Bernie, pretending he is still alive so that (I seem to recall) they could keep using his holiday house. The ’80s were a deeply troubled time.

^[3] For discussion on this point of the rising Messiah, see NT Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, SPCK, London, 2003, pp. 204-6.

^[4] ibid., p. 206.

Consider this entry in Marsden’s diary as a sign of his theology and godliness—as he faced the challenges of gospelling native inhabitants:

“What would I have given to have had the book of life opened which was yet a sealed book to them—to have shown them that God who made them and to have led them to Calvary’s mount that they may see the Redeemer who had shed his precious blood for the redemption of the world… but it was not in my power to take the veil from their hearts. I could only pray for them and entrust the Father of mercies to visit them with salvation. I felt very grateful that a Divine revelation had been granted to me, that I knew the Son of God had come and believed that He had made a full and sufficient sacrifice or atonement for the sins of a guilty world.”³

Early Life

Marsden grew up in Yorkshire England and was probably named after one of Charles Wesley’s siblings.⁴ He trained in Cambridge and served a curacy under Charles Simeon. When the need for an assistant chaplain in New South Wales became evident he cut short his theological studies to go—with the encouragement of Simeon and William Wilberforce. He was 28 when he sailed for Sydney with his new wife Elizabeth and they arrived on 10th March 1793. He and the senior chaplain Richard Johnson were expected to help the ‘morals’ of the colony but Johnson and Marsden were gospel men first and foremost. They conducted Sunday services under difficult conditions—there was no church building till August 1793—and sought to evangelize the settlers, soldiers, convicts and aboriginals. Marsden set up his home in Parramatta and was described by Joseph Banks as the best practical farmer in the colony.⁵

Mission to New Zealand

Marsden was concerned for the Aboriginal people but found them unresponsive to his ministry. He was naïve in setting up farming districts for them to settle into—as if to change their nomadic lifestyle. This lack of success probably contributed to his desire to reach New Zealand and in 1814 he bought a ship called the ‘Active’ (largely with his own money) and made the first of seven trips to New Zealand. On Christmas Day 1814 he conducted the first ever service and sermon on New Zealand soil. He preached on Luke 2:10, “I bring you good news of great joy”. These visits to New Zealand (from 1814 to 1837) were remarkably fruitful. Thousands and thousands responded to the gospel and by the time Marsden was an old man making his last visit the crowds came out in great numbers just to sit on the ground and see the revered ‘apostle to New Zealand’. It was Marsden who not only took the gospel to New Zealand but sheep as well!

Accusations

Macquarie had asked Marsden to do magisterial duty in the colony and he agreed to do so partly out of respect for the Governor, partly to bring leniency to the role and partly because there were so few who could do the job. But it was expected of Marsden that he would hand down the sentences stipulated for various crimes by the Governor. This meant that Marsden was blamed for harshness when he had no options. It is probably true as Iain Murray says that he was a man of his age in accepting standards of punishment that were designed to deter others but the accusations of cruelty were misrepresentative of the man.⁶ When he sought to relinquish the role Macquarie threatened to send him home to England.

The early biographies of Marsden (JB Marsden and SM Johnstone) tend to be supportive and sympathetic. Later biographies (AT Yarwood, and especially R Quinn) less so. In fact Quinn sets out to get New Zealanders against Marsden as much as Australians are!⁷ So Marsden is also accused of being malicious, miserly, self-interested, dangerous and mentally unfit for office. His own response was to do his work knowing that “the day is coming with the Judge of all the earth would do right”.⁸

Civilization and Conversion

Marsden held the view that some measure of civilization was necessary for gospel progress. He wrote “civilization must pave the way” meaning some education and civility was necessary for the reception of the gospel since ignorance of language and culture was a barrier. CMS respectfully disagreed saying “the principle of civilizing then Christianizing the nations is wholly a mistake. The foremost object of the mission has been to bring [them] under the saving influences of the gospel [then] such useful arts and knowledge as might improve their social condition.”⁹ Whether Marsden was right in seeking to educate to communicate or was naïve in expecting fruits before roots he steadily inclined to the view that the gospel was primary and that only the gospel would bring any change or hope.

Achievements

Not only did Marsden evangelize in New South Wales and over in New Zealand, but his trips around the Pacific brought the gospel to many of the islands. He consecrated churches like St John’s Parramatta, St Matthew’s Windsor, St Philip’s in the City and St James in King Street. He set up a seminary in Parramatta to train young men for the ministry, an orphanage for girls and set a standard in family life and farming life which was both respected and envied. His one trip home to England in 1807 was to recruit missionaries, teachers, and tradesmen for the great needs of the colony. He brought back to Australia carpenters, shoemakers, and school teachers. He also brought cows, merino sheep, and various seeds for the farmers.

Final legacy

Marsden died on 12th May 1838 aged 73. His wife Elizabeth had died in 1835. He served in Australia for 44 years in total after Johnson returned to England in 1800. James Hassall, the son of Marsden’s son-in-law, wrote that Marsden was “the only one” reproving vice and promoting godliness so “no wonder he was hated, maligned and misrepresented”. At the same time “no one was more beloved and esteemed by the upright” than Samuel Marsden.¹⁰ At the end of his life Marsden wrote “the full conviction in my own mind is that I am in the situation Divine wisdom has placed me… I have nothing to complain of, I have no grounds for complaining for goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life”.¹¹ He also wrote to a lady in the colony “you will want Jesus to be set before your eyes continually… with the Saviour you will be happy, without him you never can be… seek all your happiness in him… build your hopes on that chief cornerstone… then you will never be ashamed through the countless ages of eternity.”¹²

We have good reason to thank God for Samuel Marsden.

AIDS researchers and a Catholic nun among #MH17 victims. If you believe in a god, this would seriously be testing your faith.

I replied,

Well, most of all, and sadly, it tests your faith in humanity who do these things to each other.

The journalist was kind enough to ‘favourite’ my tweet as her reply.

I think she recognised that before we rush to blame God, we should direct our blame on those directly responsible for such evil: the terrorist who fired the rocket launcher; the persons who supplied the hardware and training to fire it.

More broadly in recent days, it is not God who burned down Mosul’s church, but the ISIS militants. It is not God who butchered a hundred villagers in Damboa, Nigeria, with RPGs and machine guns, but Boko Haram.

That’s where the clear and immediate moral responsibility lies: with the human evildoers.

However, once we’ve got that clear, there is still a legitimate question to ask. A church member’s Facebook friend asked where “divine intervention” was when the Malaysian flight got shot down.

Intervention is a good word. If it doesn’t blame God for the actions of evildoers, it does observe that he’s perfectly capable of intervening dramatically to prevent evil.

Biblical religion is built on the premise that God not only upholds the world he made, but also sometimes actively intervenes for his own good purposes: the parting of the Red Sea in Israel’s exodus from her Egyptian slavery, through to Jesus’ raising the synagogue ruler’s daughter from death (Mark 5:35-43).

We believe that God can do miracles. After all, he raised Jesus from the dead.

So why doesn’t God intervene to knock the insurgent’s missile off course? Even more dramatically, why not just strike the terrorists of Boko Haram or ISIS dead, as he did the Assyrians when Sennacherib attacked and besieged Jerusalem (2 Kings 19:35)?

My initial response is to ask what the results would be like for humans if God intervened and directly over-ruled every time we did something wrong or evil.

Putting it most brutally, people would be struck dead left, right and centre.

If God has to immediately stop all the evil in the world, then he’d have to stop me! Because, though I like to consider myself better than others, I am a contributor to the sum total of that evil. (If you don’t agree with me, then you don’t know me, or perhaps yourself, very well, but that’s an argument for another day.)

But surely, people suppose, God is wise enough to intervene in other ways, to prevent the evil, without striking the intending perpetrator dead?

Well, if you are so wise, exactly how do you think he is going to do this?

If he exercised some form of mind-control over us whenever we begin to plan evil, then we’d be reduced to little more than automatons. If he hedged us around with barriers to prevent us hurting and being hurt by each other, then our human freedoms (real, though never, of course, unlimited) would be lost and our responsibility reduced.

There’s a good argument to say that under such conditions, our love – such as it would be – would be coerced and corralled from us, certainly not freely given. So our humanity would be drastically diminished.

Wrapped in cotton wool, immunized against hardship, we’d lose our ability to learn from our mistakes, and we’d have no opportunity to grow. Yet surprising though many find it, often our best growth comes in the valleys, in the midst of hardship, whether caused by others or our own misdeeds. The psalm-writer says,

Before I was afflicted I went astray,
but now I obey your word. [Psalm 119:67]

But why only intervene sometimes?

The answer is that we don’t know why God intervenes in one situation and not in another. But if God is God, then he is far wiser than us.

Romans 11:33-35 says…

³³ Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable his judgments,
and his paths beyond tracing out!
³⁴ “Who has known the mind of the Lord?
Or who has been his counselor?”
³⁵ “Who has ever given to God,
that God should repay him?”

God does not owe us. He does not even owe us an explanation.

And even if he provided in-depth justification for each decision to intervene or not, they’d be way beyond our ability to assess. The variables are just so great.

Of course, from a Christian point of view, all of us have sinned, fall short of God’s glory, and rightly deserve his wrath at our sin. Speaking of God’s choice to show mercy to some (and not others), Paul writes in Romans 9:14-15

¹⁴ What then shall we say? Is God unjust? Not at all! ¹⁵ For he says to Moses, “I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.”

So for any of us to receive mercy is more than we deserve. I thank God for the death of Jesus, where his love for sinners was demonstrated decisively (Romans 5:6-8).

I cling to the cross.

+++

What else to do in the present distresses in Ukraine, Iraq, Gaza, Nigeria…?

Well God has made us to be responsible creatures, so…

Pray for peace

Beg God to be merciful on us all…

God of the nations, whose kingdom rules over all, have mercy on our broken and divided world. Shed abroad your peace in the hearts of all men and banish from them the spirit that makes for war; that all races and people may learn to live as members of one family
and in obedience to your laws;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. [An Australian Prayer Book, p96]

Live at peace

Reject personal vengefulness. Romans 12:12-19 says,

¹² Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ¹³ Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

¹⁴ Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. ¹⁵ Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. ¹⁶ Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.

¹⁷ Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. ¹⁸ If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. ¹⁹ Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord.

Ask your leaders to speak for peace

For example, it might be good for people to write to your local federal Member of Parliament to ask them to ensure Australia’s voice is raised internationally against the persecution of Christians in places like Mosul and northern Nigeria. In addition, you could urge the Government to be proactively generous to Christian refugees from these areas seeking protection visas in countries like ours.

Of course, we should also be concerned for all people of any religion or none facing persecution or suffering under civil war.

There have been times in my life when I’ve thought that maybe if I prayed in a different way, or if I sang songs in a different style, or if I used that Bible reading plan, then maybe I would experience God in a fuller, deeper, and more intimate way. Maybe if I just did something differently, then God by his Holy Spirit would fill me with these feelings of excitement, making my Christian walk just that much better.

As I speak with Christians at church or university, it seems that this desire to ‘experience’ or ‘feel’ God more intimately is quite widespread. People who desire such an experience feel they’re missing out on something. As one Christian said to me at church after hearing a sermon on Psalm 103, “There must be something more to the Christian life than I am currently feeling”. I wonder what advice you would give to such a person? On one hand, you may be right to point out that what we know to be the truth shouldn’t be overshadowed by being caught up in an experience-hungry age—but does this downplay too seriously the proper place of our emotions? My hope is that we can speak in such a way that values a desire for intimacy with God by speaking truthfully about the work of the Holy Spirit in the here and now.

Cultural context or deep-felt desire?

We should acknowledge at the outset that ‘desire for experience’ defines much of our current culture—we live in an experience-hungry age. Thirty years ago, British theologian Derek Tidball wrote of our culture:

‘I know’ or ‘I think’ has given way to ‘I feel’. The objective has had to make way for the subjective.^[1]

This movement has been around for a while: the infamous rock band Bush declared in Glycerine, “It must be for real ’cause now I can feel”. Our culture wants what is real; and what is real for our culture is what we feel.

And really, emotions have a place! Although not grounding his knowledge in his feelings, Augustine helpfully acknowledges “our hearts are restless until they find their rest in God”.^[2] There is, says Augustine, a right desire that exists in the Christian for God to relieve the desires of the soul—a sentiment that echoes that of the Psalms, for example the cry of Psalm 42:2: “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God”. As we claim that we have a personal relationship with God, our concern is not whether or not there is an intimate relationship to God, but rather what that relationship should look and feel like.

The mystics and subjective experience

Mysticism is one stream within Christian tradition that lays a claim to a deeper subjective experience of God (Pentecostalism is another, with its emphasis on the visible gifts of the Holy Spirit, but we won’t address that directly here). The claim of Christian mystics is that they don’t just know God intellectually, they also feel him in their heart. Mysticism is defined as that which:

…emphasizes the inward, subjective, intuitive experience of God. For Mystics, God and Christ are persons who are known and experienced firsthand, more than simply objects of belief.^[3]

Richard Rolle, for example, was a hermit in the 1300s. He believed that the solitary life was the best way to experience God. Rolle records an occasion when an “unusually pleasant heat” surged over him when “contemplating” Christ, giving him an overwhelming sense of delight and comfort that prompted him to love more:

Astonished at the way the heat surged up… I kept feeling my breast to make sure there was no physical reason for it… once I realized that it was entirely from within, that this love… was a gift of my maker, I was delighted, and wanted my love to be greater.^[4]

St Theresa of Avila, a Spanish nun in the 1500s, described the soul as a castle with seven chambers, each chamber inside the other. The gateway into the inner chambers was prayer; deeper levels of prayer lead to the inner chamber of the soul where true union with Christ is experienced:

Our Lord, too, has other methods of awakening the soul. Quite unexpectedly, when engaged in vocal prayer… it seems, in some wonderful way, to catch fire. It is just as though there suddenly assailed it a fragrance so powerful that it diffused itself through all the senses.^[5]

These two examples are illustrative of mysticism’s claims that by meditation and prayer some people report deep sensory experiences of God. These experiences are said to bring comfort and assurance.

Assessing subjective experience

What are we to make of such experiences? Are the mystics describing genuine Christian spirituality? Should all Christians expect to experience such feelings? First, the wrong response is to be reactionary and dismissive—this runs the risk of making our own individual experience, which may not include experiences like those described by the mystics, the basis of our truth. Rather, truth needs to be grounded in God’s revelation through the scriptures.

One way of approaching this issue is to ask, “What does God promise the Christian in the here and now?” Well, God promises every Christian a myriad of spiritual blessings: we are called from death to life; justified; adopted as sons and daughters; sanctified; we will be glorified; we can hear God through his word and know that our heavenly Father hears our prayers.

But what if, on occasion, God gives something on top of these promised blessings? The Australian theologian Graham Cole describes such experiences that God gives to some individually as “uncovenanted blessings”;^[6] good things which God’s people enjoy but which are not promised in Scripture. An example of an uncovenanted blessing is wealth: God does not promise in Scripture that all Christians will be materially wealthy, but indeed many Christians are. This is a blessing from God that is not held out as promise.

So while it is true that God never promises to audibly answer our prayers, what if God does at times relate in an audible voice? What if prayer does become some ecstatic moment? Surely such experiences can’t be dismissed? We need to keep seeing that God is free and gracious in the way he relates to us.

Paul as our model

Paul’s conversion was an amazing experience, with light and a voice from heaven. Paul performed miraculous signs (2 Cor 12:12), spoke in tongues more than anyone (1 Cor 14:18), and he was even caught up to a third heaven (2 Cor 12:1-7). So it is all the more significant to note that Paul never makes such experiences normative for Christian experience. Instead, Paul gives thanks (1 Cor 14:18). For Paul these particular experiences are reasons for praise, not prescriptions for others. Paul nowhere gives a formula to follow so that these kinds of experiences will happen. In fact, our experiences take a back seat in our proclamation: “what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord” (2 Cor 4:5).

Unfortunately, some forms of mysticism have tended to be prescriptive, offering specific instructions in order to cultivate a particular emotion, thought or experience. Such prescriptions misunderstand that these experiences are gifts from God, not things we can conjure up.

So what is normative?

In order to outline what can be expected in a normal relationship with God, we need to get three things quite clear.

Firstly, God is transcendent: he is above and beyond us. Not only are we God’s creatures, but we are rebellious creatures. While God once walked with his people in the garden of Eden, Adam and Eve’s sin resulted in their expulsion from the garden and from God’s presence. There is a distance which can’t be breached between sinful people and the holy God.

Secondly, although God is transcendent, he has drawn near to his sinful people. The tabernacle and the temple in the Old Testament were visible representations of how God in his mercy dwelt with his people—but only on his terms, through sacrifice. In the person of Jesus Christ, God came near in a new way: the incarnate Son. God the Son dwelt in human flesh, became our sacrifice, died in our place, rose and ascended back to the Father. Jesus is now our permanent high priest interceding for us at the right hand of the Father in heaven. After Jesus’ ascension the Spirit was sent from the Father and through the Son to dwell in the hearts of God’s people. Our relationship with Jesus and the Father is now mediated through the Spirit.

It’s important to keep saying this last point—that we experience the presence of Christ through the Spirit—otherwise our language of a ‘relationship with Jesus’ is misleading. Songs with lines like, “he walks with me and talks with me along life’s narrow way” can lead us to think that Jesus is not in heaven but here with us on Earth in a tangible way. Jesus is with us in a very real way, through the word empowered by the Spirit, but he’s not accessible and tangible in the same way your next-door neighbour is.

Thirdly, seeing our Saviour’s face is the object of our hope (1 John 3:1-3). Paul says to the Thessalonians that the gospel leads Christians to wait for God’s son from heaven (1 Thess 1:9-10). We’re not in heaven yet—at least not completely. Ephesians 2:6 and Colossians 3:1 explain that we are in heaven, seated in the heavenly realms, but we are not yet there physically. By the Spirit we participate in the new kingdom, but we will not experience it fully until Jesus’ return.

These three considerations introduce us to the important role of the Holy Spirit in the Christian’s life. While Christ is not physically present with us and is the object of our hope, he has poured out his Spirit to be present with us. In light of this, the mystical quest to ‘feel God’s presence’ is missing something—Christians have God’s Spirit present with them all the time.

The Spirit isn’t just present with us; his sanctifying work involves perfecting our affections.^[7] Graham Cole says, “Christian spirituality is responsive spirituality… It is out of the appreciation of the gospel of Jesus Christ that Christian affections and behaviours flow.”^[8] The Spirit takes the gospel’s truth and applies it subjectively so that believers are transformed to Jesus’ image. An integral part of the Spirit’s transforming work is the perfecting of believers’ feelings such that they begin to feel God-centred emotions. For example, we as believers feel guilt for our sin, we are led to repentance, and are confirmed in love by the wonder of adoption.

The work of the Spirit

As the crowd hear Peter preaching the gospel in Acts 2 they are “cut to the heart” and ask “Brothers, what shall we do?” (Acts 2:37). Peter tells them to repent and be baptized, have their sins forgiven, and receive the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38)—the Spirit who brings an unbeliever to conversion by convicting them of sin (John 16:8).

Similarly, in Hebrews 10, the repeated sacrifices of the Old Covenant produce a consciousness of sin (Heb 10:2). This guilt hinders anyone from drawing near to God with a sincere heart. Yet this same guilt is overthrown by the gospel (Heb 10:17-18). Through faith in Jesus there is forgiveness; hearts are sprinkled clean from an evil conscience. This does not mean that believers will never feel guilty of sin, but points to the importance of hearing the gospel afresh, allowing the Holy Spirit to cleanse our hearts by reckoning in us the truth of forgiveness in Christ. Furthermore, the Spirit works in us to deepen our conviction of God’s love for us (Rom 5:5). This work finds its fullest expression in the believer’s assurance that they can call God “Abba! Father!” (Gal 4:6; Eph 1:5).

From the fear of slavery to the freedom of sons

For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. (Romans 8:15-17)

Christians are no longer fearful slaves but adopted sons and daughters of God. Jonathan Edwards comments:

The slave fears the rod; but love cries, Abba, Father… The testimony of the Spirit the apostle speaks of is far from being any whisper, or revelation; it is that gracious holy effect of the Spirit of God in the hearts of the saints, the disposition of children, appearing in sweet childlike love to God, which casts out all fear.^[9]

As adopted children of God we have a shared sonship with Jesus the true Son, and can address the Father as he does: “Abba, Father”. God gives us the Spirit of his Son to confirm our intimate relationship with God, just as the Son had an intimate and emotional relationship with God—he was angry at religious hypocrisy, jealous for his Father’s glory, deeply compassionate for the helpless, mournful over death, and longed to gather his people. As adopted children we are not to live in fear but to be secure in love, just as the Son was not fearful but assured of his Sonship. The Spirit works in us to confirm that we are children of God, in such a way that he helps us feel the emotions of those belonging to the family of God.

Conclusion

So are we missing some important experience in the Christian life? Not at all! We have a family relationship with God the Father because of the work of the Son, and the presence of Christ with us now through the present Holy Spirit. It sounds to me that someone looking for a further experience of intimacy with God is the one missing something, not the other way around.

The Spirit prompts us through Hebrews 12:2 to fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith. It is my conclusion that as we focus on Jesus and the truths of his gospel the Spirit will work in us to transform us, bringing forth the fruit of the Spirit—love, joy and peace. He will give us the power to understand the breadth of God’s love for us, plant a joy in us rooted in our salvation, and give us a peace that surpasses all understanding.

What we find here is that the experience of more that we long for is not found by looking for further ‘experiences’; rather it is found as the Spirit of God takes the Word of God and changes our hearts. As we remind ourselves of the gospel, the good news that Christ’s death for us makes us God’s dearly loved children, the Spirit will grow appreciation in us so that fear is replaced by the intimacy and assurance of Fatherly love and care.

[NB: a previous version of this article mistakenly named Nirvana as the creators of the song “Glycerine”, not Bush. Apologies to grunge fans everywhere. —Ed.]

When we bow our heads and bend our knees in prayer to the God of all creation, we participate in an impossibly privileged activity. To be able to meet with the one whom the Old Testament saints feared even to name, let alone look upon (lest they be consumed by his glory and die), should be a cause for great humility and no small amount of trembling. The Christian holds an astonishing status before God. On any day, at any time of the day, we may approach God to speak with him personally. We are to approach him as his own children—without fear and with confidence, but always in an attitude of reverent awe and deep respect.

Very often, however, it seems we forget that it is a privilege to come before our Father God—a privilege that Jesus won for us by his sacrifice on the cross. Too often Christians exhibit a bawdy familiarity that verges on contempt. Our regular presence in the throne room can cause us to develop a tendency towards carelessness and presumption, and our humble caution turns into disrespect. We may begin to make demands instead of bring requests. The more passionate and desperate our prayers are, the greater the temptation is for us to make demands of God. This is why we need to do the hard work of understanding the promises God has made in Scripture, as we shape our prayers around them.

Of all the private prayers we bring in conversation to our Father God, perhaps none are as deep, heartfelt or desperate as our prayers for healing and restoration—whether physical or spiritual—for ourselves and others. We often offer up such prayers in the midst of deep sorrow, grief, frustration or anxiety, and they are usually washed with tears. We bare our naked hearts and deepest desires to God and beg for his intervention to bless, restore and transform. It is our privilege as his children to be able to do this—to come to our loving Father and seek his comfort and aid and to claim the promises he has made available to us.

These privileges, however, do not extend to claiming promises God has not made or to neglecting commands and precepts that he has set in place. We must never forget that God owes us nothing. He is no-one’s debtor. What privileges we have come to us as gifts. They are not a reward; they do not come to us based on our particular merits. They are ours because of his grace alone. When we enter God’s presence, we do so with nothing in our hands and with no claim on him. We are the ones who owe him the debt—not the other way around. We lean only on the holiness and righteousness of his character—that he is the God who makes promises and does not lie.

Peter describes the promises that we have received from God in Christ Jesus as “precious and very great” (2 Pet 1:4a). He goes on to explain the function of these promises:

…so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire. (2 Pet 1:4b)

The dawning and apprehension of these promises transforms us. We have been forgiven, made clean, and liberated from this world ruled by sin and death. Because of this, we are eligible to participate in the divine character—that is, we have been granted that which through our own power and ability we could never achieve. We have been made holy, righteous and fit for heaven and membership in the family and kingdom of the Creator and Redeemer. In short, we have been profoundly and fundamentally healed. It is a work already completed and a status already won for us by Christ Jesus:

But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God. (John 1:12-13)

But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself. (Phil 3:20-21)

Like all things in the Christian faith, we can only discern this spiritual truth—that our healing has already been secured—through the insight of the Holy Spirit. We comprehend this astonishing reality by faith alone. But the fact that this ultimate healing appears to carry so little weight in the popular Christian church may well indicate that there is another issue we need to address. This lack of emphasis on the redeeming work of Jesus could be a sign that there is a serious lack of authentic, godly spiritual guidance in some of the popular Christian movements that have arisen in recent times.^[1] Paul had a very good reason for cautioning Timothy to “keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching” (1 Tim 4:16). Paul knew that a laxness in this area leads quickly to error and to a perversion of the message of salvation.

It is impossible to declare too loudly the truth that where a biblical understanding of sin, judgement, salvation and atonement has become blurred or gone missing, there can be no expectation of genuine spiritual guidance or godly insight in doctrine or teaching. In such an environment, error will always flourish. When our Christianity becomes more about self-actualization, personal empowerment, gratification or success as opposed to thanksgiving, righteous obedience, repentance and faithfulness to God, the gospel of salvation that knows only “Christ and him crucified” (1 Cor 2:2) has clearly been lost.

It is long past time for us to ask serious questions of churches, theologians and preachers who teach that wealth, prosperity and upward mobility are God-intended blessings for the faithful Christian. We need to cast a critical eye over those who teach and promise that anything but health and long life is a sign of faithlessness. We need to call to account those who claim that the individual believer can exercise complete control over his or her personal environment by faith.^[2] Such teachings are, unfortunately, enormously attractive to the 21st-century believer whose experience of life is one of turmoil and uncertainty.

Twenty-five years ago, DR McConnell predicted that such teachings were the greatest threats to Pentecostal and charismatic faith,^[3] and he was right. Today these teachings and theologies appear to be the backbone of contemporary Pentecostalism and charismatic faith. Just as alarming is the fact that popular evangelical Christianity appears to take great delight in dressing itself in exactly the same robes. Many have watered down the saving gospel of Christ to little more than a magical formula by which we might satisfy our greed and self-centred needs.

Once again we find ourselves wrapped in the all-pervasive pursuit of individual happiness and success. Here, ‘happiness’ is defined purely along the lines of feelings that communicate pleasure, gladness or gratification—and it is easily recognizable so that the Christian can evaluate his or her spiritual health, as it were. According to this spiritual framework:

1. God wants you to be happy.
2. If you aren’t happy, this is an indication that you’re somehow spiritually defective.
3. The antidote for this situation is to rid yourself of negative thoughts and bad choices, so that you might engage more fully in the life of blessing that Christ has made available.
4. You know your spiritual health is normal when your life of satisfaction and success (happiness) is back on track and running in the direction you want it to go.

The problem with this paradigm is that the Scriptures seem to be completely uninterested in this definition of blessing (happiness). If happiness is defined anywhere in the Bible, its definition is subtle and implicit, an exhortation to live a life that is rich, full and meaningful—which means loving and obeying God.

In a recent publication, secular psychologist Dr Russ Harris identified four myths about happiness that can lead to serious struggles with contentment and self-understanding.^[4] The myths he identifies as dangerous delusions are:

1. Happiness is the natural state for all human beings.
2. If you are not happy you are defective.
3. To create a better life, you must get rid of negative feelings.
4. You should be able to control what you think and feel.^[5]

Now look again at the four points of the spiritual framework that is pervasive in contemporary Pentecostalism and evangelicalism, above. These doctrines of (spiritual) self-actualization are exactly the same as the secular myths Harris identifies. Such things never appear on the lips of Jesus when he describes life this side of the kingdom, and neither are they part of any teaching from the apostles. The truth of life—as it really is—is that happiness is not the common state of humanity. In fact, happiness is a rare commodity, and to conclude otherwise is simply naive. This is the testimony of Scripture, and the secular Dr Harris concurs.^[6] The 21st-century Christian church has shamelessly sold its soul to the ‘happiness industry’ as it peddles a gospel in which individuals no longer need to recognize their deep sinfulness or their need for a mighty saviour. This triumphalist materialism/humanism is a bold and horrific perversion of God’s promises of forgiveness, restoration and healing in the kingdom to come.

I find it difficult to view such teaching as anything less than the blasphemy of taking the Lord’s name in vain, for the name of Jesus becomes a tool by which God may be manipulated to get what we want or need. For the tender Christian conscience, this is a blasphemy of breathtaking proportions. When the Lord God spoke to Moses at Sinai, he said:

“You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain, for the LORD will not hold him guiltless who takes his name in vain.” (Exod 20:7)

It’s unlikely that God had in mind the limited way in which we tend to understand this commandment today (the use of ‘God’ or ‘Jesus’ in cursing or profanity). The larger intent was to ensure that God’s people never used his name as the Canaanite and Egyptian sorcerers used the names of their gods. When magicians in the Ancient Near East discovered the secret name of a god, this knowledge gave them the ability to control that deity. To imagine that knowing the name of the God of Israel would translate into such power is unthinkable. And yet, it is not too great a leap from this pagan practice to the belief that the Lord God will answer every one of our prayers, no matter how self-serving or materialistic, so long as we offer them up in the name of Jesus. This is exactly the same attitude as those who practised magic in ancient and medieval times.

Christians usually justify this behaviour by quoting Jesus in John 14:14:

“If you ask me anything in my name, I will do it.”

But, as McConnell rightly notes:

His promise was not unqualified. It requires believers to abide in him and allow his words to abide in them (John 15:7). It requires them to keep his commandments (1 John 3:22). It requires them to pray according to his will (1 John 5:14-15)… believers who use the name of Jesus for their lusts should expect nothing from God.^[7]

It seems a strange thing to suggest that there might be a situation or circumstance in which it is wrong or inappropriate to ask God for healing—but, as always, the rightness of asking becomes a matter of heart and motive. It is possible to lust after healing just as it is possible to be overly infatuated with any good thing. Our error arises only when we lose perspective and our deep passions take control. Sin happens when we fail to see things as they really are—that is, when we fail to enjoy a good thing in its right place and instead make it an end in itself. The inevitable result is that we abandon the honour and praise of God to pursue an experience, person or object.^[8]

Healing is a good thing, but it remains entirely in God’s hands. We cannot force or demand it and it is not a benefit that we can earn or receive as a reward. Healing is a gift. There is no secret rite that will elicit its appearance, no magic formula that will sway the sovereignty of the giver. God will bless as he sees fit and in accordance with his own counsel and wisdom. Should he choose to bless you with this mercy, receive it with humility, thanksgiving and joyful praise. Should he choose to withhold this mercy, endure with humility, thanksgiving and joyful praise.

Making the ordinary extraordinary

It is no surprise that God answers the prayers of his people, because he does it all the time. Indeed, he promises to do so.^[9] God never leaves us to confront the storms of life on our own. When a missionary receives the financial support needed to take the gospel into another land—there is God answering prayer. When a church receives the pastor they have needed—there is God answering prayer. When I get that job I was desperately seeking; when my child returns home safely from a trip away; when the rain falls on drought-stricken lands; when I am reunited with dearly loved friends and family; when I find my long-sought-after life partner; when my cancer goes into unexpected remission—there is God answering the prayers of his people. For the Christian, seeing the answer to a prayer offered up in faith and trust is endlessly wonderful—but, in a sense, it is also the most common of occurrences. Our God answers prayer and delights to grant these mercies.^[10] He has promised to be our Father^[11] and to listen to the prayers and petitions of his children.^[12]

It seems odd, then, that the modern Christian church should make such a fuss over God answering prayers for healing, as though this was somehow extraordinary or unexpected. Because we worship the God who rules over all things, everything from the daily rising of the sun to my next breath is a result of his grace, love and authority—and therefore a cause for praise. In a sense, everything is extraordinary. But not everything is unexpected.

Paul lists healing among the gifts given to the church for the common good, but he does not accentuate it in any way as a particular blessing that stands out amongst the others. No, this tendency to elevate that which God intended to be a hopeful expectation among the saints to the level of something extraordinary is entirely man-made. Suddenly our churches must be filled with anointings, special dispensations, power encounters and second blessings. The believer is endlessly encouraged to expect an experience that is spiritually or physically exceptional. When God answers prayer now, the answer must come with a performance. Everything must be bigger, brighter, better and more spectacular because we are Christians living under the power of God. What utter nonsense. Remember Jesus’ words:

“And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites. For they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And when you pray, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do, for they think that they will be heard for their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (Matt 6:5-8)

In the days of Elijah the prophet, Baal worship was infinitely more dynamic, entertaining and rewarding than the worship of Yahweh (historically, worshipping fertility gods tends to be like that). But if the encounter between Elijah and the priests of Baal in 1 Kings 18:16-40 tells us anything, it must surely be that the Lord is neither limited nor impressed by geography, numbers, or religious fervour. Elijah’s personal conduct here is important and worth noting. He heals (repairs) the altar, he reminds the people that they are twelve tribes (not ten), and then he prays in accord with the covenant promises of his God. Elijah’s simplicity reflects his theology—he knows the history of his people and he knows the character of his God, and so he knows the appropriate way to act.

I sometimes wonder if the fuss we make reflects our lack of understanding of the God we worship. Are we sliding back into the belief that God can be stirred to action if we create a flurry of religious passion? If so, then surely this is the result of a lack of confidence that God will do what he has promised in the life of the church, at exactly the right moment—the moment of his own choosing. Since when has God’s initiative and activity been dependent upon us and our sincerity, enthusiasm or faithfulness? Here, again, we see that creeping tendency to place ourselves at the centre of our religion where everything depends on how I feel—my response, my commitment, my empowerment. This kind of religious panic accompanies fear and faithlessness, and it manifests itself when there is a lack of trust that the sovereign God is in fact working out his plans and purposes for the benefit of those who love him—just as he has promised to do.^[13] This kind of Christianity is profoundly shallow and easily uprooted. At its heart, it is good old-fashioned me-focused works righteousness. I may feel good about my performance and I may well have felt an atmosphere of expectancy in the congregation, but this has little or nothing to do with the God who saves through the gospel of faith in the atoning work of Christ.

Responding to the presence of healing

Despite the concerns we have discussed, the fact remains that healings do manifest themselves in this world from time to time in the lives of believers. As he sees fit, God acts to heal individuals physically in manifestations of awesome grace. It is one thing to argue for a theological and hermeneutical grid through which to interpret the biblical miracles, but what are we to make of the genuine physical healings we hear about and see in the church today? What do they mean and signify? Do they require us to develop a new methodology for interpretation and understanding?

Perhaps the best way to approach this matter is by asking two simple questions. First, why does the ascended Christ continue to miraculously heal people of their physical ailments? And second, how should we respond to such events?

Why does Christ continue to heal?

I begin with the question why simply because there is no doubt that the God of the Bible is the God who reveals himself as the one who has the power to heal—both physically and spiritually—even today. So the question is not if, but rather why. Having established the theological significance of the earthly ministry of the incarnate Christ, including the miracles that accompanied his presence and that of the apostles, the issue now is why such phenomena might continue beyond the apostolic age and into today. What is the purpose of this?

The eminent American theologian BB Warfield saw no evidence that the miraculous continued beyond the age of the apostles.^[14] More recently, Jack Deere has concluded exactly the opposite.^[15] For my part, the debate revolves entirely around the witness of Scripture in the promises of God. Are there teachings that suggest that miracles of healing would continue beyond the ministries of Christ and the apostles? I think there are, but we need to recognize that the miraculous today functions in a way that is fundamentally different from the way it functioned in the first century.

In the ministries of Christ and the apostles, the miraculous served two great functions. First, it confirmed the validity and authority of the good news that the kingdom of God was at hand. Second, it gave a glimpse of the reality of that coming kingdom to those hearing the message. Jesus’ resurrection from the dead, however, has overtaken the first of these functions:

We do not need contemporary miracles to verify the gospel God sealed by raising Jesus from the dead and authenticated by signs and wonders through the apostles (see Rom 15:18-19)…

In other words, Cessationism^[16] is right to see the sufficiency of the biblical miracles to confirm the apostolic gospel. They do not need to be repeated to accomplish this purpose.^[17]

No further sign of validation and authority is required, because no sign is greater than the resurrection.

It would take a bold person, however, to assert that the purpose of revealing the majesty of the future kingdom has also been entirely accomplished for the people of God and that there is no longer any such need within the church. To hold this position is to unequivocally predict a future in which God will not exercise his sovereignty in unanticipated ways. I, for one, am not so rigid or courageous. After all, God will do as he pleases:

Continuationists^[18] are right to see that what God could do in Bible times, he is perfectly able to do today. There is no theological reason—no biblical teaching—that tells us that God will not do today what he did then. The power of God is no less today than then.

Continuationists are right in their openness to the possibility of God acting in extraordinary and powerful ways today.^[19]

However, as we have seen, this does not give us the licence to exaggerate events that occur today, claiming their equality with the ministry of Christ or undermining the uniqueness and significance of New Testament times.

The short answer to our question is that Christ appears to continue to enact works of healing for individuals because he chooses to do so. He decides—not because he is invoked by some spiritual incantation or special fervour, but because it is appropriate—to teach the individual how to rightly praise and honour him, and to advance the cause of his kingdom to the glory of God the Father. He heals because it is right for him to do so, and because the need for encouragement within the church of Christ is not yet fulfilled. But it is Christ alone who decides how best to answer the prayers of the saints. A pastor, however greatly anointed, has no power to make this decision. The power and authority lie in Christ’s hands and will alone. This authority does not now, nor has it ever, rested with us.^[20]

How then shall we respond?

The Bible gives us a simple and direct answer to this second question: we should respond in joyful praise, heartfelt thanksgiving and sincere prayer.^[21] How we express this response to the manifestation of God’s might, mercy, love and grace will, of course, be as varied as the individual believers, circumstances, personalities and needs themselves.

The saints receive the blessings that their God showers upon them with joy, humility and thanksgiving. These responses are never out of place within the Christian community—especially when unanticipated healing comes. In fact, this blessing is one that reminds us of our great dependence on our Creator and our unworthiness to receive anything from his hand. When God answers our prayers, often all that we can do is bow down, cover our faces, and worship the one who rules over all things—for these answers from our sovereign God lead us to acknowledge that we have no right to stand in the company of one so great and powerful, let alone to be the recipients of his love and mercy.

And so our joy and celebrations in the presence of healing are seasoned with genuine doses of humility and deep introspection. When God answers a prayer in an unanticipated way, it seems less than appropriate for the faithful to leap about as though they’ve just won something and been called to the front by Oprah or Ellen DeGeneres. Even joy and celebration should be God-honouring. God’s mercy and faithfulness drove Daniel to his knees in repentance;^[22] Job responded to his restoration with self-abased humility;^[23] when Jesus healed the woman of her bleeding she fell to her knees in trembling fear;^[24] when he had been set free, the man who had once called himself ‘Legion’ could not keep from declaring the wonder and authority of Jesus,^[25] much like the man born deaf and mute.^[26] This is how the Bible presents the responses of those who have been restored by the mighty hand of the Lord. Consistently, we witness their humility, awe, praise, thanksgiving and repentance.

Christians have long been lampooned for their tendency towards emotional sobriety, and while at points it has been overdone, there is a good and godly reason why believers are never far from donning the garments of humility during times when others might be celebrating unfettered. We cannot divorce any gift of God’s unmerited favour from that great act of healing and deliverance won on our behalf at the cross. Every blessing we have flows from this wonderful and terrible act. All of our victories have been won at the cost of the blood of the Son; all of our blessings flow from his wounds. This truth is deeply engraved on the heart and mind of every Christian person. And so our joy and thanksgiving will always, at some point, return to that place where Christ was despised so that we might know true joy:

Surely he has borne our griefs

and carried our sorrows;

yet we esteemed him stricken,

smitten by God, and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions;

he was crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

and with his wounds we are healed. (Isa 53:4-5)

All healing begins here, and so all healing will take us back to this place. The faithful delight to return to the cross, even when dressed in tears of joy, for only here are we reminded of who we truly are, of how much we have gained, and of the glorious reality of the God who saves at his own cost.

Responding to the absence of healing

Every instance of trial or difficulty in the Bible is actually an opportunity. Trials are opportunities to exercise confidence and faith in God in the face of crippling circumstances or dire need. Every Christian who undergoes times of turmoil, disappointment or suffering has these opportunities to choose—to trust the God he or she knows in this circumstance, or to run with the reality of experience. Each time we face such a difficulty, we choose whether our theology or our emotions will guide our response.

It sounds simple—but, of course, it is not. Suffering is a heartless brute who does not let up, sometimes not even for a moment. He parades his apparent strength before our eyes with undaunted arrogance, and his torment penetrates our flesh, our bones, our hearts and our souls. Whether it is chronic pain, or the heartbreak of losing a loved one, or the sudden onset of tragedy—it does not matter. This tyrant does all he can to close the walls in around us, block the sun, and shrink our world until it becomes terribly dark and small.

We pray our most desperate prayers when we find ourselves in this dreadful and lonely place. We pray to the God who promises to listen, who has promised to love us, and we wait—hoping against all hope to hear his answer and see his hand deliver us from the darkness that surrounds us. We pray this way because the Scriptures teach us to pray this way. We hold out this hope because the Bible relentlessly encourages us to do so. I know of no teaching or theology that suggests believers ought not to pray such prayers or hold fast to such hopes. This is why we are so bitterly disappointed when the answer we crave does not come. We do believe that the God who sits at the heart of the universe desires the best for us. We do believe that he seeks our blessing, and not our cursing. We do believe that he is kind, and gracious, and lovingly merciful above all else. We experience disappointment because we do believe.

Our world becomes very small when misfortune and suffering enter our sphere, doesn’t it? The reduction in perspective is subtle but relentlessly thorough. I know this is true because I have experienced this creeping paralysis myself, and I have seen it take hold of many friends and loved ones. When these circumstances arise, it becomes crucially important to remind one another again and again that this world is not the whole world. We must remember that this perspective on life is not a complete perspective. We need to realize that this truth is not the truth. Certainly this is a message that is difficult to hear and comprehend in the midst of personal trauma, but it is a message that must not be lost.

In 1992 I went on mission with my theological college to Wollongong University in New South Wales. I was in my third year of training and there were 16 of us in the mission team. Our host church was St John’s in Keiraville, and one of the team members was a second-year student named Richard. Richard and I had been in the same college prayer and chaplaincy group for two years and had become friends. One night during the mission Richard and I sat talking, and he told me of his desire to work at Wollongong University in student ministry with AFES.^[27] I confided that I had a great desire to one day become the rector of St John’s, a small church close to the university campus that, it seemed to me, had remarkable potential for kingdom ministry.

Six years later, I was invited to become that church’s rector, and I was delighted at the prospect of working with Richard, who was already well established at Wollongong University. Our friendship remained strong, Richard’s family grew, and my daughter became Richard’s second daughter’s first piano teacher.

In late 2009, Richard’s wife Bronwyn was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was shattering news. Pancreatic cancer is a notoriously difficult illness to treat, with correspondingly low survival rates. Bronwyn was given only six to nine months to live, but by God’s mercy she endured for three more precious years.

In April 2013, after countless surgeries and hospital admissions, this gentle, generous and godly wife and mother of four left her husband and children to go home and receive the reward for her faith. Through trial and suffering that most of us dare not imagine, Richard’s family prayed that recovery, healing and restoration might come to Bronwyn. They prayed for God’s mercy and grace and invited their wide network of Christian brothers and sisters to do the same. Yet above all, in every letter and communication to us, they prayed for strength to submit to the sovereign will of the Father, ever giving praise and thanks to him. Physical healing did not come; it seemed God’s answer was ‘no’. But there was a remarkable healing of another kind.

In June 2012, Bronwyn wrote an article for the Equal But Different journal in which she expressed a breathtaking faith:

Why has God given me cancer? Maybe it is to make me repent of my wrongs and turn to Jesus—it has certainly done this. Maybe it is to make me talk more to my friends and family about Jesus—it has certainly done this. Maybe it is for reasons way beyond my understanding—it is certainly at least this. All I know is that God has given me this gift of cancer to use for his glory. We pray daily for the cancer to miraculously go away. But if God chooses to say no, we can trust him nonetheless.

It is still hard to really grasp that I am only here for a very little while. But as the Bible teaches:

 

“All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever.” (1 Pet 1:24)^[28]

This is how the saints of God respond when physical healing does not come. They trust in his all-encompassing sovereignty and fix their eyes on the glorious Saviour. They seek to bring him glory regardless of their situation or circumstance. They rely on his trustworthy promises, made so clear and firm by the cross and the empty tomb. They go to meet him with shining eyes, with heads held high, and with hearts full of praise and thanksgiving.

I sat with almost 1200 Christian brothers and sisters in the Wollongong University Hall at Bronwyn’s memorial service and I was in awe as Richard stood before us. He wept for his wife and preached the gospel that promises new birth, unshakable hope and an imperishable inheritance. When we stood to sing the last hymn—‘In Christ Alone’—I could do nothing but cry tears of grief and joy for my sister in Christ who now stood in the presence of her Creator and Redeemer—taking her place among that great cloud of witnesses and testifying to the endless trustworthiness of the God who makes promises and does not lie.